The Artist
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: A young boy obsessed with Star Wars befriends a strange but kindly shop owner and admires his artwork. But a robbery gone awry reveals the truth behind the storekeeper's paintings.
1. The Artist

The Artist  
  
Kenya Starflight  
  
Rated PG for mild violence and language (it's been replaced with *** marks, but some people still appreciate the warning...)  
  
Devon crushed the paper he was holding and balled it up, lobbing it into the school parking lot. The stormtrooper he'd been trying to draw looked more like a deformed robot.  
  
He glanced up from his seat on the curb to see Bus 125 pull away. With a shout of dismay he stood and ran after it, but it was hopeless. Mrs. Dunnet, his bus driver, never stopped unnecessarily, even to pick up a straggler. He'd just missed the bus.  
  
"Guess I walk home," he grumbled, setting off. It wasn't far to his house, only about five blocks. But he preferred the bus. For one thing, it meant he didn't have to risk getting pounded by Steel and his gang.  
  
"Hey, it's the geek!"  
  
Uh-oh. Steel had just spotted him. He broke into a run.  
  
"Where ya goin', geek?" Steel taunted.  
  
Devon ducked down a side street, hoping to lose his pursuers. Steel was the biggest kid in the third grade, and he took great advantage of his size. Only his teachers called him by his real name, Jedidiah. To the rest of the school, he went by his "wrestling name." Most of the kids at Rock Creek Elementary had been roughed up by him and his pack at least once, and Devon was a favorite target of theirs.  
  
"Slow down so we can play WWF with you!" one of the goons hollered.  
  
He wished he weren't carrying his backpack right now; it was really weighing him down. But he'd already lost one backpack this year thanks to Steel, and he didn't want to have to give up more allowance money this year to pay for another one.  
  
Another turn found him in a commercial area of the city. Thinking Steel wouldn't press the fight in a store, he ducked into the first door he could find, a strip of bells announcing his entry.  
  
Through the glass door he could see Steel and three of his cronies look up and down the street. Muffled conversation drifted through the glass.  
  
"He must've gone into the gas station."  
  
"I ain't goin' in there! It smells!"  
  
"Let's just go to the arcade. We'll get the geek tomorrow."  
  
Devon breathed a sigh of relief as they left. They especially liked to whale on him for being a geek, a Star Wars aficianado. He hated being singled out for bullying like that. So what if he drew X-wing/TIE fighter battles on his papers? So what if he brought action figures to school to play with during recess? He didn't rag on them for being dumb ugly gorillas, did he?  
  
Not that anyone in their right mind ragged on Steel's gang for any reason.  
  
He looked around to see where he was -- and screamed.  
  
Jango Fett towered over him, twin blasters cocked in his direction. Seeing the figure startled him, but he calmed down when he saw it was just a dummy in armor. Was this a costume actually used in the making of the movie? He doubted it.  
  
It's a Star Wars shop, he realized. For every collectible he could imagine hung from the walls, sat on shelves, or was displayed in glass cases along the walls. Action figures, toy ships, lightsabers, masks, model kits, posters, statues, comics, T-shirts, books, Lego sets, video games, even watches and coffee mugs gleamed in the flourescent lights. Devon had to pinch himself to make sure this was real.  
  
"Wow," he breathed. He would never get bored in this place. Spying a cool-looking toy blaster hanging from a peg on the wall, he went over to investigate it.  
  
Over the blaster hung a painting of Yoda. Devon's eyes went wide. He'd seen paintings of Star Wars characters on the Internet before, but none as realistic as this. The tiny Jedi stood on a hummock of swampy ground, leaning on his cane, mouth slightly open as if about to speak. Indeed, Devon half-expected to hear Yoda's gravelly voice advise "Always in motion is the future" or "Away put your weapon" or something similar. It was framed with braided twigs or vines, quite appropriate for the subject matter.  
  
I wish I could draw that good, he thought enviously.  
  
"All right, all right, y' win, I can pick up the shipment tomorrow," another voice huffed, this one high-pitched and warbly, with a strange accent Devon couldn't place.  
  
He turned to see a scrawny old man slam a phone back in its receiver. The store owner was barely taller than Devon, with baggy wrinkly skin the color of nutmeg and a ring of shocking white hair encircling an otherwise bald scalp. A beard the same startling shade of white hung down to his chest, and a bushy mustache underlined a nose that resembled a hawk's beak. He spotted Devon and flashed an enthusiastic smile, showing off two gold teeth.  
  
"Hey there, lad, can I help y'?"  
  
"Just... looking," Devon replied weakly.  
  
"Well, no need to fear me, lad. I ain't goin' to bite." The old man scooted from behind the counter to stand by Devon. He wore a red-and-orange Darth Maul T-shirt and a pair of too-big khakis, and ridiculous beaded sandals showed off his bony toes. "What's your name?"  
  
"Devon," he replied, gaining a little confidence.  
  
"Pleased to meet y' Devon. I'm Mr. Makatzo, proprietor of this, the Mos Espa Street Market. Though it ain't a street market, no lad. Too many blasted thievin' buggers in this town."  
  
Devon laughed. He decided he liked Mr. Makatzo. "Where'd you get the painting? It's really cool."  
  
"Ah," Mr. Makatzo sighed, stroking his beard. "That's my work, lad. Painted it m'self, when I was younger and my eyes not so bad."  
  
"How much is it?" Devon asked. Probably way out of his price range.  
  
The little old man laughed. "Not for sale, lad. Display only. Gives the old place atmosphere."  
  
"Did you paint anything else?"  
  
"Did I now! Got dozens! I'll show y' another!" And he practically dragged him across the store, knocking over a display of PEZ dispensers on the way. "Only show three at a time. Here's the second."  
  
"Whoa!" Devon gaped. It was Taun We and Lamaa Su of Kamino, standing on a balcony and watching the pounding waves below. This one had to be a fairly recent picture, seeing as these were "Attack of the Clones" characters, and if this was an example of his later work, he'd lost none of his talent. The frame was a bit weird -- clear plastic tubing filled with water, with jets at each corner to circulate bubbles throughout the frame -- but strangely appropriate.  
  
"Where's the third?"  
  
"Right here." And once again Mr. Makatzo hauled him to the painting, this one over the counter where the register was. It was a Boba Fett painting framed with pieces of rusty metal. The hunter was shown rocketing in the air with his jet pack, firing his flamethrower at some unseen foe below.  
  
"Awesome!"  
  
"Glad y' like him, lad," the old man said quietly. "He has quite a story to tell. They all do." And he seemed to tune Devon out as a faraway look came over his face.  
  
"Uh, Mr. Makatzo?"  
  
He snapped out of his trance. "So what'll it be, lad? A comic book? Maybe some action figures y' ain't got in your collection yet, eh?"  
  
"I only got two dollars on me."  
  
"Only two dollars? Hmmm." He turned to a shelf and picked up a sheet of Episode II stickers. "Y' can start small, I s'pose..."  
  
"Great!" He reached for the stickers.  
  
"But why should y'?" He dropped the stickers and grabbed a Luke Skywalker Unleashed statuette instead.  
  
"But..."  
  
"A special for y', lad. Don't get many young-blood customers."  
  
"I can't take it for two dollars!" Devon protested, even though he'd coveted the Unleashed line for months.  
  
Mr. Makatzo smiled and ruffled his hair. "Got a good heart in y', lad. Tell y' what -- y' can help me 'round the shop a tad -- stockin' shelves, cleanin' a little. Earn y' some money. Then y' can buy some real collectibles."  
  
"Really? I'd love that! When can I start?"  
  
"T'night, if you'd like. Best call your folks first so they know where y' are."  
  
"Great!" He grabbed the phone.  
  
***  
  
After that, he spent most of his evenings after school helping out at the Mos Espa Street Market. His parents approved fully -- indeed, they were thrilled that their youngest child was learning responsibility at this age. Though he ended up blowing most of his salary on collectibles, he was saving some each week for his college fund (either that or a 1977 figure, which Mr. Makatzo sold several of).  
  
It wasn't hard work, and when things were slow he and Mr. Makatzo often played a game or read comic books or just had a snack and discussed Star Wars. He'd learned a lot about the movies from Mr. Makatzo, as well as how to develop a taste for the old man's special blend of gunpowder green tea. And every day he perused the shop's shelves and added to his list of items he'd purchase someday.  
  
Several weeks into his job, he and Mr. Makatzo were snacking on Nacho Cheesier Doritos and tea and playing Star Wars Battleship, yakking about the weaponry embedded in Jango and Boba Fett's armor. Devon had read about it, but Mr. Makatzo knew much more than the book had described.  
  
"I wish I knew as much as you," Devon said enviously.  
  
Mr. Makatzo laughed. "Give it time, lad. You're still young." He paused to crunch into a chip. "So what pictures should go up t'night when we close? I was thinkin' Yoda, the Tusken Raider, and Luke Skywalker or Princess Leia."  
  
"Do Darth Vader," Devon advised. "He's cooler than Luke and Leia."  
  
"All right, Vader it is. We'll swap the paintings 'round soon as we've closed shop."  
  
Devon grinned. Changing the paintings was one of his favorite jobs. He felt that he was holding something of great value -- something almost sacred -- when he handled one. And it thrilled him to know Mr. Makatzo trusted him with his precious artwork.  
  
"So tell me, Devon," Mr. Makatzo said, leaning forward, "do y' believe in other worlds?"  
  
"Sure," Devon replied, gulping the rest of his tea. "I think the universe is too big for there not to be other planets with life on them..."  
  
"Not planets, lad," the old man corrected. "Worlds."  
  
Devon stared. "What's the difference?"  
  
"Not worlds as in planets, satellites, spheres of interstellar rock. Worlds as in universes, dimensions, alternate realities. Where the laws of our universe may be radically altered or even gone altogether. Where things beyond your wildest imaginings may exist."  
  
The shopkeeper's eyes had a strange gleam in them, and his high wavery voice became strong and rough. Devon frowned, wondering what he was getting at and why it excited him so.  
  
"Uh... I dunno."  
  
Mr. Makatzo gave a sad little smile, becoming his regular self. "Ah well. Sorry, lad. Subject matter may be a tad over your head." He began to put away the game. "Heard someone come in just now. I'd better man the register. Why don't y' go ahead and sweep out the back while I help the customer?"  
  
He nodded, grateful for the change of subject.  
  
***  
  
Devon roused, grimacing, wondering why his front was so wet. Then he realized he'd fallen asleep while scrubbing behind the counter. Great, he thought, glancing at the clock. It's nine. Mom and Dad are gonna skin me alive for being late.  
  
He cleaned up the scrubbing water still on the floor, dropped the sponge in the bucket, and groped around in his pocket for the key. Mr. Makatzo had closed the store at eight and gone to bed, having an apartment behind the store. He'd told Devon to lock the door and throw the key through the mail slot before he went home.  
  
A crash made him freeze in place, a crash followed by the wild jingling of falling glass. His insides twisted into a complex knot as he poked his head over the counter.  
  
Hoods!  
  
A half dozen nasty-looking teenagers were stepping through the broken glass door. One carried a handgun, two more knives, and the only girl in the group held an aluminum bat, no doubt what they'd used to break through the door. All wore ski masks over their faces, bulky jackets, and ragged jeans -- except the girl, who looked uncomfortable in her leather mini-skirt.  
  
"Place looks like a nerd's acid trip."  
  
"Keep it down, man!"  
  
"Old man sleeps like a log. He won't hear us."  
  
"Check it out! He's got vintage action figures!"  
  
"Nab 'em. They might be worth some dough."  
  
Devon gulped and crouched down low, praying he wouldn't be spotted. This was probably some gang from the inner city. They normally didn't stray out this far, but lately some of them had gotten bolder and were claiming new turfs in the suburbs. Hopefully they'd just swipe some collectibles and leave. If they raided the cash register, they'd find his hiding place.  
  
"Dude, it's Yoda!" one of them exclaimed, no doubt referring to Mr. Makatzo's painting.  
  
"And there's a weirdo alien on the back wall," another pointed out. He was referring to the Tusken Raider, pictured astride his bantha and holding his gaffi stick aloft in triumph. The frame was carved sandstone, beautiful but a real pain to lift and hang.  
  
"Think they're worth anything?" asked the girl.  
  
"You kidding? Unless this guy's a big-name artist, which he ain't, they're worth squat."  
  
"Check out the Vader one. It's got a frame that might get a good five hundred."  
  
Devon peeked over the counter to see three of them greedily approach the painting. It portrayed Vader striding confidently down a Stardestroyer hallway, flanked by three stormtroopers on each side. That had to be Devon's favorite picture. Vader was his favorite character, and Mr. Makatzo had captured the Dark Lord in all his fearsome majesty. But the goons wanted the frame, which was of stainless steel that many people mistook for silver.  
  
Get your grimy hands off that, he thought angrily as the tallest gangster grabbed the picture and lifted it off the peg. Immediately it slid out of his hands and crashed to the floor, glass flying everywhere. Almost, Devon thought, as if it couldn't stand being in the guy's clutches.  
  
"****! Watch it!"  
  
"It's heavy, man!"  
  
"**** it! This isn't silver! We got gyped!"  
  
"What about the pic?"  
  
"Ain't worth bull."  
  
"Hey you!"  
  
Devon whirled to see a burly goon pointing his gun at him. The guy was built like an older version of Steel, with a stained denim jacket on and a lip ring protruding through his ski mask. Devon nearly wet his pants upon seeing him.  
  
The goon made a small movement upward with his gun, a silent order for Trevor to stand. He obeyed, though his legs were shaking so badly he almost sat back down again.  
  
"Hey, look what I found!" he told the others.  
  
"Shut the **** up! You'll wake the old man up!"  
  
"Hey, it's the kid who works here," the girl noted, approaching. "Why aren't you at home, kid?"  
  
"I... fell asleep cleaning..." he squeaked.  
  
"Let's have some fun with him," the guy with the gun suggested.  
  
"Nah, he's just a kid," another said, vetoing the idea. "Just have him open the register and leave him."  
  
Devon felt the gun dig into his back. "You heard him. Open the register."  
  
His gaze fell on the painting, now crushed in one teen's gloved hand. "D-d-don't ruin that..." he pleaded.  
  
"Oh, this?" the guy asked, holding up the badly creased painting. He grinned and jammed his knife through the canvas.  
  
"Stop it!" Devon cried, throwing himself at him. A burly arm caught him at the waist and held him back.  
  
Laughing, the goon continued to shred the painting, scattering the pieces all over the floor. Then he went to the Yoda painting.  
  
"No!" he shouted, squirming.  
  
"Open the cash register or Yoda gets the same," his captor snarled. "Right dude?" He turned to the guy on his left, who'd gone pale with terror. "Uh, dude?"  
  
"Anyone else hear that or am I nuts?" the guy asked in a surprisingly falsetto voice. "Please tell me I'm nuts!"  
  
"Why, whaddaya hear?" the girl asked.  
  
They all paused. There was indeed a strange noise in the shop -- a rhythmic, airy sound, like air being let out of a tire in measured bursts, only lower. An ominous hiss-whoosh that sent shivers of fright up Devon's spine as his mind placed the sound.  
  
Turning, he saw blinking lights in the darkness by the cash register. Heavy footsteps pulsed as a tall figure stepped into the moonlight that spilled in through the shattered door. Blue-white light eerily highlighted the sinister ebony mask, the gleaming shoulder and chest armor, the shin greaves and thick gauntlets. A night-black cloak trailed after him like a set of wings.  
  
Devon swallowed. Things couldn't get any worse.  
  
Someone whimpered as six more figures emerged from the shadows. Their armor gleamed bone-white in the watery light, their forever-frowning helmets regarding the intruders detatchedly. Their black-gloved hands clutched wicked-looking blaster rifles that gave no indication of being just for show.  
  
Devon tried to swallow again but had no spit left to do so. Things had just gotten worse.  
  
Lord Darth Vader gazed contemptuously down at the gangsters. "I do not believe you are authorized to be here at this hour," he noted, his voice resonant and metallic, as dark and foreboding as the rest of him.  
  
"Uh... we were... just leaving..." choked the smallest teen in the group.  
  
"Keep it together, man," his comrade encouraged. "He's just trying to scare us."  
  
He's doing a good job of it, too, thought Devon in panic.  
  
"Who are you cats?" the guy holding Devon demanded.  
  
"I am Lord Darth Vader," Vader replied menacingly. "This is my escort."  
  
"Bull****!" the girl sneered. "I suggest you uber-geeks move your crazy ***es out of our way before we move them for you!"  
  
"Girl, you realize who we're messing with?!" screeched the tallest member of the gang, who was still a good foot shorter than Vader. "He'll strangle us all!"  
  
"Don't buy his ****!" she shouted back. "Vader don't exist! This guy's a ****ing fraud!"  
  
Vader drew himself up straight, no doubt highly insulted by the remark. "If it is proof of my statement you want, you shall have it. But first, release the boy. He has no quarrel with you."  
  
Obediently the goon holding him let him go. Devon was too terrified to do anything but stand rooted in place, however.  
  
Vader stepped forward and put his hand on Devon's shoulder. He flinched, but nothing happened to him.  
  
"Go to Master Makatzo," he ordered in a gentler tone. "Tell him what is happening."  
  
It took his brain a minute to digest the command. "Now?"  
  
The fearsome helmet lowered and raised slightly in a nod.  
  
Devon ran for the door in the back that led to Mr. Makatzo's apartment. Abruptly three deafening pops sounded, and he hit the floor instinctively. Had the hoods really shot at Darth Vader?  
  
He raised his head a bit and was treated to an awesome sight. Vader was lifting the heaviest goon one-handed by his neck, the gangster's legs kicking furiously. The gun-toting one was still firing at the stormtroopers, but the bullets merely embedded themselves in the white armor, not even penetrating the metal. The troopers, meanwhile, fired at the teens' feet, making them dance a wild-looking jig.  
  
Devon picked himself up and reached the door just as Mr. Makatzo opened it, wearing a white undershirt, X-wing boxers, duck slippers, and an old-fashioned sleeping cap and carrying a shotgun in one hand.  
  
"What's goin' on?" he demanded.  
  
Devon opened his mouth to explain, but no sound came out. Instead he threw his arms around the storekeeper and buried his face in his shoulder.  
  
"My stars," Mr. Makatzo murmured in awe as he wrapped comforting arms around the boy. "My good stars."  
  
***  
  
Devon was quite sure that the hoods wouldn't be showing their faces around this block anytime soon. And if they did choose to share the embarassing tale of how they'd failed to clean out an elderly man's "geek" store, he doubted anyone was going to believe them. He could hardly believe it himself, actually. Even though the damage was minimal and nothing had been taken, he was still in a great deal of shock regarding the entire event.  
  
It was past midnight by the time he got home. Mr. Makatzo had given him the assignment of talking to the police while he hustled Vader and the stormtroopers into the back to hide them. Since no one would believe the truth, Devon made up an easy-to-swallow lie about how he'd snuck into the old man's bedroom and woken him up while the gang trashed the place, and how a few shotgun blasts over their heads had chased them out. Then he'd had to give descriptions of the would-be burglars, which he did as well as he was able. Then a cop had driven him home, where he'd had to repeat the whole tale to his hysterical parents. When he'd finally crawled into bed, he hadn't been able to sleep. When he'd finally dozed off at 3 A.M., nightmares of blaster fire and shattering glass kept waking him up.  
  
He felt like a zombie going to school the next day. His mind was so foggy he couldn't remember any of his lessons, except something vague in science about molecules and how they related to the onset of the Clone Wars (hey, he was tired). But it was also the best day of school he'd ever had, since everyone -- his parents, his teacher, the principal, other students -- was hailing him as a hero for his actions the previous night.  
  
The principal announced the story over the intercom during the morning announcements. The lunchlady, who normally scowled at the kids and lectured the cafeteria about proper nutrition, snuck him a wink and a chocolate brownie as he collected his food (the brownie tasted like Play Dough, but it was the thought that counted). All the students thought it was so cool that he'd faced robbers and grilled him continually for juicy details. Even Steel walked by him in the halls without tripping him or making snide comments about his Anakin Skywalker backpack.  
  
When he entered the Mos Espa Street Market that afternoon, two guys dressed as stormtroopers (501st members, he guessed) were mulling over a selection of Star Wars CCG cards. One of them looked up, saw him, and tapped his companion on the shoulder, and they hurried over to meet him.  
  
"Hey kid, you're famous!" one exclaimed.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The paper. Evening edition. Front page, even." He flipped the newspaper open. Sure enough, there was a picture of him -- the recent school picture that he detested -- and police sketches of the goons in their masks just under the headline "Boy Prevents Gang Robbery of Local Theme Store."  
  
"It must have been scary," the other guy noted.  
  
"It was," he replied. Though not because of the reasons you're thinking, he added under his breath.  
  
"Will you sign this for us?" the first guy asked. "Nice to see a local celebrity."  
  
Devon regarded the two psuedo-troopers with a critical eye. Their plastic armor was dull and cumbersome compared to the glossy metal of the real thing. The mask lenses were set too far apart, the markings on the stomach plates inaccurate. The toy blasters at their belts smacked of sloppy duplication. After seeing the original stormtroopers for himself, even the 501st paled in comparison.  
  
Dutifully he fished around in his backpack for a pen and scrawled his name across the horrible picture of himself.  
  
"Thanks!" The guy mussed his hair before he and his friend left.  
  
Mr. Makatzo looked over from straightening the Boba Fett picture that was currently replacing the Vader portrait. "Didn't expect to see y' here today, Devon."  
  
He grunted in reply.  
  
"Y' look beat, lad." He climbed down from his stepladder. "Why don't y' go home and get some sleep?"  
  
He looked the old man in the eye. "All right, spit it out. You're hiding something, and it isn't just the Sith Lord and his stormtroopers. There's something magic about your paintings."  
  
Mr. Makatzo's expression didn't change. "What makes y' say that?"  
  
"Well, for one thing, Vader didn't show up until the hoods ripped up his picture. He knew your name, and I'm guessing he knows me too, since he didn't terrorize me. And he called you 'Master.' Now either I heard him wrong when he said 'Mr.' or you've got some kind of magic or Force trick going on here."  
  
Mr. Makatzo smiled sadly. "Flip the sign to Closed and come in back, lad. There's somethin' I need to show y'."  
  
They went into the living room of his apartment, where the two of them had so often drunk tea and played games and talked. There was no sign of Vader or his troops. A sketchbook lay closed on the table beside a peppermint-scented pillar candle. On the other side of the candle was a metal chest about the size of a computer monitor.  
  
Without a word Mr. Makatzo opened the chest and removed a lightsaber. Devon gaped, knowing it had to be the real McCoy and not a movie prop. The old man set the weapon aside and also withdrew a long braid of jet-black hair, which Devon guessed was a Padawan braid. Finally he held up a folded set of robes the color of beach sand and a worn cloak the color of river mud.  
  
It didn't take a rocket scientist to make the connection. "You're a Jedi Knight."  
  
He nodded. "Jedi Knight Akri Makatzo, native to Nar Shadda." He chuckled. "Don't be fooled by the lightsaber, lad. I was never much of a fighter. More of a bookworm. I preferred to research new ways of using the Force."  
  
Devon gazed at the man with new respect. Never mind that he looked nothing like a Jedi with his Episode I baseball cap, black "Got Force?" T-shirt, baggy jeans shorts, and beaded sandals. This was much cooler than meeting a Star Wars celebrity. They were just actors. This guy was real.  
  
"I was very interested in finding a way to preserve life forms without injurin' them," he went on as he repacked the trunk. "Carbonite was chancy, and it always had nasty side effects. It took me years of testin', both in the Jedi Temple and in hidin' during the Purges, before I discovered and perfected a method."  
  
Mr. Makatzo picked up a sketchbook and flipped it open to the first page. It was a very detailed sketch of Darth Vader and six stormtroopers. Devon wished he could draw half as well.  
  
"I was always hopeless with art," the old man said as if reading his mind. "Only when I used the Force and had a subject did it turn out well."  
  
"What do you mean?" Devon asked.  
  
Silently Mr. Makatzo ripped the page out, crumpled it into a loose ball, and dropped it in the lit candle. The tiny flame caressed the paper wad, leaving dark smears, then merry flames engulfed the drawing. As it crumbled and flaked into oblivion faint sillhouettes of Vader and his men appeared by the table. By the time the sketch was consumed entirely, the seven of them had fully materialized.  
  
The Dark Lord stepped forward and gave a respectful bow. "Master Jedi Makatzo. I am pleased to meet you again in less chaotic circumstances."  
  
"Same here, my Lord." Mr. Makatzo replied. He stood behind Devon and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "This is Devon, the boy I hired. Y' been seein' him 'round the store, I believe."  
  
"A pleasure to make your acquaintence, Devon," Vader rumbled, extending a hand.  
  
"Hello, Lord Vader," he replied, shaking the huge hand. "Can I get your autograph?"  
  
A deep metallic laugh echoed from somewhere in Vader's torso.  
  
"The lad wants to hear our story," Mr. Makatzo explained. "I'll put on the teapot and and fix y' all some lunch before y' go back to your painting."  
  
"Do you have those cakes?" asked one of the stormtroopers. "You know, the yellow ones with the gooey white stuff in the center? I love those."  
  
And so it was that Devon found himself eating toasted cheese sandwiches, Twinkies, and green tea with the Dark Lord, six clones, and a Jedi Knight. This alone, he thought, was worth facing a gang.  
  
"I can't believe you guys really exist!" he gushed. "All that 'long time ago in a galaxy far, far away' stuff was true!"  
  
"'Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent,'" Vader quoted, taking a bite out of his sandwich -- though how he did so without taking off the mask baffled Devon. "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, fantastic writer."  
  
"But I always thought Lucas invented Star Wars," Devon said, puzzled.  
  
"Lucas was granted the knowledge through a divergence in the Force," Mr. Makatzo explained. "To prepare your world for us."  
  
"Prepare?"  
  
"Remember when I asked y' if y' believed in other realities, lad? Star Wars tells the tale of one such reality and its inhabitants. They aren't just characters, lad -- they LIVED. They ate and slept, laughed and cried, dreamed and worked and played and made love and bled and died. Until somethin' happened." He stared into his teacup, eyes misty.  
  
"Your universe blew up, didn't it?" asked Devon.  
  
"Reality is always an unstable thing," Vader mused. "Learned men question it, the religious seek a way to breach it, the fatalistic deny it. And on occasion it fluctuates, giving individuals brief, wondrous tastes of what lies beyond their own plane." His voice lowered to a whisper that was nearly drowned out by the surrussus of his respirator. "It was at the bloody height of the Galactic Civil War, before the events of 'Return of the Jedi' could occur, when the Emperor -- may his wretched soul rot in oblivion -- made it his final act to destroy our world. I tried to kill him before he could do so, but his last words before I struck him down were 'One world under my rule, or no world.'"  
  
"It wasn't an immediate thing," a trooper added, wiping Twinkie cream from the corners of his mouth. "The galaxy slowly collapsed on itself over the course of a year. Refugees flooded Corusant to escape oblivion, for the capitol was the last planet to go. We knew we had to flee to another reality if we wanted to live, and yours was the most compatible. But your world was also in the throes of World War II and very far behind technologically."  
  
"So Mr. Makatzo put you all in paintings," Devon realized. "To keep you safe until Earth catches up with your universe."  
  
"Not all of us," another trooper mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed. "Many decided to 'go down with the ship,' as it were. In the end, about five thousand men, women, aliens, and droids were painted into Master Makatzo's paintings, preserved for a second chance at life. A pitiful number compared to the trillions and trillions of beings that once inhabited our domain, but not all could be saved -- and not all wished to be."  
  
"Y' asked once why Jabba the Hutt and Darth Maul were not among my pictures, lad," Mr. Makatzo said. "Well, Jabba decided he'd rather die nobly than stand the confinement of preservation. And Maul, of course, was dead already."  
  
"And you don't have Jango Fett, Emperor Palpatine, Mace Windu, Obi-wan Kenobi, Padme, or Count Dooku for the same reasons," Devon added.  
  
"Exactly." Mr. Makatzo sighed. "Jedi live long lives, but I won't be around much longer, I fear. I'd hoped Earth would catch up to our world by the time my time came, but that doesn't appear to be the case."  
  
Devon stared into his cup, then looked up at Vader. "When I grow up, I'm gonna be a scientist," he declared. "And I'll find a way to make lightsabers and holograms and hyperdrives so you won't be stuck in your paintings forever."  
  
Vader reached out and good-naturedly ruffled the boy's hair. "You have a fine young man here, Master Makatzo. Let him carry on in your stead when you pass on. He can be trusted."  
  
"Very well." The old man smiled at him. "Devon, would y' like my paintings when I die? If y' like, I can teach y' the preservation technique in case one is damaged or destroyed. But y' must only use it in an emergency."  
  
He nodded solemnly. "I'd like that very much."  
  
***  
  
It was very funny to see the tiny old man bossing the massive Sith Lord around, trying to get just the right pose for the new picture. Devon chuckled as he tied on a smock and picked up his paintbrush. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.  
  
"All right, if y' insist, we can try a new pose," Mr. Makatzo snapped. "An action scene, perhaps, with your troops firin' on somethin' and y' givin' orders, unless y' want to be shown with your lightsaber drawn... Hey now, man, do y' really want to go down in history like that?" he demanded of the trooper who was absent-mindedly scratching his crotch.  
  
The guy paused in mid-scratch. "Guess not."  
  
At last they decided on a pose, the six stormtroopers standing or kneeling as they aimed their guns to the left, Vader with his glowing red saber cocked at a battle-ready angle. Mr. Makatzo turned on the fan for the "billow effect" on Vader's cape, then nodded at Devon.  
  
"It's all y' now, lad. Remember, let the Force guide your hand and eye."  
  
He carefully dipped his brush in the special blend of paint, then raised it to the meticulously prepared canvas. An unseen hand seemed to guide his arm as he applied gentle strokes, slowly creating an image. As the mock-battle fleshed out on the canvas, the models seemed to go transparent so he could see the apartment walls through them.  
  
Tears pricked his eyes. "I don't want them to go," he whispered.  
  
"Well, y' can't leave them like that, lad," Mr. Makatzo said kindly. "Finish your work. They won't be gone forever."  
  
He obeyed. The background of a fierce ground war completed, he painted the stormtroopers one by one. Each soldier faded and vanished as he transferred them to the painting. At last he worked on Vader, and he, too, disappeared.  
  
"Thank you," the Dark Lord breathed just before Devon added the last stroke, putting him entirely into the painting.  
  
Mr. Makatzo squeezed his shoulders affectionately. "It's hard sendin' them back. Sometimes I'll rip up a painting and let one go just for some companionship, and I always hate puttin' them back. But they understand it's necessary, and so do I."  
  
Devon laid the brush down. "Why don't you join them, Mr. Makatzo? I can paint you, then when the time comes to let you all go you can all be together at once."  
  
"Oh, I've thought about that." He helped Devon clean up the art supplies. "But I've got my own life now. And I'm quite happy with it." He smiled. "Better run home, lad. It's gettin' late. And if your parents ask why I kept y', I'm teachin' y' how to paint in gratitude for savin' the store."  
  
Devon picked up his backpack and the stack of Star Wars Infinities comics he'd bought that day. "See you tomorrow after school."  
  
"See y' then." He winked. "May the Force be with y', Devon."  
  
"May the Force be with you, Mr. Makatzo." 


	2. Dreamweaver

The Artist II – Dreamweaver  
  
Kenya Starflight  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE – Due to popular demand, I've paused work on my other fics to write the second installment of "The Artist." It's both prequel and sequel to the first, giving the back-story of "The Artist" while telling the further story of Devon and Mr. Makatzo. It also explains, I hope, why Darth Vader acted rather out of character in the original story.  
  
Corusant.  
  
It was dangerous for any member of the Alliance to venture anywhere near the capitol world. The city-planet was understandably the most heavily secured planet in the galaxy. But today, Mon Mothma and a handful of other Alliance military leaders had risked the journey. For a Rebel cell hidden deep in the low-level slums of Corusant claimed to have captured one of the highest-ranking men in the Empire – Darth Vader.  
  
Their meeting-place had been carefully chosen. A dim lobby at the bottom level of an abandoned office building in the Dead Sector, its only light was a portable glow panel hastily bolted to the wall. Its sickly yellow illumination only just revealed the jagged cracks in the ferrocrete walls, the mysterious stains on the bare floor, the chipped rickety furniture, and three generations worth of graffiti. It was a lowly place, but it was safe, for few patrols came this deep into the Dead Sector.  
  
Fate had an odd sense of humor, Mothma decided as she tried to make herself comfortable in the broken armchair. If her memory served her, and it usually did, this was the same room where, over twenty years ago, she and a handful of senators had covertly met with Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi. Here they had learned of the destruction of the Chosen One, the rise of Vader, and the inception of the Jedi Purges.  
  
A young Zabrak soldier, looking exhausted but jubilant, skidded into the room, saluting hastily.  
  
"Report," Mothma told him.  
  
"We've got Vader!" he gushed excitedly, as if this would be breaking news. "And the Emperor's dead! Gone for good!"  
  
Astonished silence met his statement. That the Rebellion had managed to take Vader into custody was incredible enough; that the Emperor could be dead was almost unthinkable.  
  
"How did you manage to kill the Emperor and apprehend his right-hand man at the same time?" asked Admiral Ackbar.  
  
"We didn't kill him," corrected the soldier. "Someone reported a big rumble in the Crimson Corridor Sector – something about Imp troops fighting each other and Vader and the Emperor going at it like rabid acklays. By the time we got there, it was all over. Dead stormies all over the place. The Emperor was in the middle of the mess. Had a saber run through his heart, if he ever had one. Just sorry I didn't see it happen."  
  
"Sounds to me like his right-hand man was plotting a takeover all along," noted General Madine. "What about Vader?"  
  
Here his enthusiasm faltered. "It was weird. He was just sitting there, all hunched over with his head in his arms. Didn't resist at all when we put him under arrest. But we tranqued him up good before we brought him in just to be on the safe side."  
  
"Thank you, sir. Bring him in."  
  
Tensions skyrocketed instantly as over a dozen guards escorted the Dark Lord into the lobby. But puzzlement quickly replaced anxiety. For where was the tall, proud, confident Sith, resplendent and terrifying in glossy black battle armor, that had haunted the Alliance's nightmares for years? This man walked with a limp, his armor dulled and cracked and charred, his cloak ragged and torn, his head bowed and shoulders slumped. Lightsaber and electrical burns streaked his armor, and an awful stench of hot metal and singed cloth and flesh followed him.  
  
Despite herself, Mothma felt a great surge of pity for Vader. Something had obviously cut him deeply. Had his master rejected him? Did he regret killing the dictator? Or was he simply depressed because his revolution had been thwarted by the Alliance?  
  
"Your coup appears to have failed, my Lord," she told him.  
  
He raised his head to look her in the eye. "A coup never took place, Madam."  
  
"That's a laugh," an Admiral smirked.  
  
"You're out of order, sir," Mothma told him sternly. To Vader she said, "Then what was the battle in the Crimson Corridor about? What led you to battle your master?"  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he murmured. "But the story must be told, for it concerns the fate of the galaxy."  
  
"Go on," she urged. If Vader was willing to ally himself with their cause to save the galaxy, it was worth keeping him out of the cell blocks.  
  
Vader kept his gaze leveled at the Alliance leaders as he spoke, his customary bass voice oddly flat. Amusement, then disbelief, and finally horror came over everyone's faces as he related how his sadistic master had studied the ancient secrets of the dark side in the Sith Archives. How he had learned the arcane arts of destruction – and decided to use them against the rebellious galaxy that refused to subject itself to his rule. How Vader had attempted – too late – to curtail the deadly plan by destroying his master.  
  
And he repeated the Emperor's terrifying last words before Vader had run him through:  
  
"One world under my rule, or no world."  
  
---------  
  
Earth.  
  
Devon woke up. He blinked cloudy eyes and kicked off the blankets. Another one of those weird dreams – he'd have to tell Mr. Makatzo about it.  
  
He made his way to the closet to change his clothes, only to trip over a model of an AT-AT walker and almost kill himself. Last night's dream had been pretty tame, actually. Now the dream from the night before… wow! Troopers at war, red lightsabers clashing, lightning and smoke everywhere…  
  
He stopped to grab a donut on his way out to catch the bus. As he washed it down with a glass of chocolate milk, he could hear his older sister Britney griping about something-or-other. He just rolled his eyes. Britney was always complaining.  
  
"It's just unfair," she whined through her pierced nose. "Devon gets to stay out late, and he's only ten! How come I have to have a curfew?"  
  
"Devon has a job, that's why," Mom replied evenly. "If you had an after-school job..."  
  
"And that's another thing!" she spat. "Why do you let him work at that geek store? He's only working there because that weird old geezer's a Star Wars freak too. Hasn't he heard of child labor laws?"  
  
"He's not a weird old geezer," Devon defended. "He's my friend."  
  
"We know, dear," Mom replied sweetly, kissing his forehead as he tried to worm his way past her and out the door.  
  
"Mo-om!" he yowled. Why did she have to subject him to mush all the time?  
  
School was an average day, complete with a lecture from his teacher for bringing a Jango Fett action figure to school, a D on his social studies paper, and an impromptu track meet as he outran Steel to Mr. Makatzo's store. As a self-proclaimed geek, he couldn't expect much else out of a day. Besides, it was after school he was looking forward to.  
  
He took a deep breath as he entered the Mos Espa Street Market, the Star Wars-themed novelty store Mr. Makatzo ran. It wasn't an especially profitable business – in fact, Devon suspected the old man actually lost money on the shop every month. But profit didn't matter to him; running the store was a labor of love.  
  
But only Devon knew Mr. Makatzo's secret – that he was a Jedi Knight and the last hope of a lost galaxy.  
  
"Mr. Makatzo!" he shouted, running for the back room. He knew the storekeeper would want to know of his dream. Dreams, he'd told Devon, were often windows to the past or future.  
  
"Hey Mr. Makatzo!" he shouted, bursting into the apartment at the back of the store.   
  
"Devon!" the familiar warbly voice of Jedi Knight Akri Makatzo greeted warmly. The old man gave him an affectionate hug. He was wearing a Florida Marlin's baseball cap, a Disney/MGM Studios Star Wars Weekends T-shirt, Bermuda shorts, and his trademark beaded sandals.  
  
"Sit down, lad, and I'll get y' somethin' to drink. Been busy lately?"  
  
"I've got something to tell you…" he began, sitting down at the table. His voice trailed off. Someone else was sitting at the table, chewing thoughtfully on a celery stick, a stack of encyclopedias underneath him to keep him above the tabletop.  
  
"Good to see you it is, Devon," the dwarven Jedi said with a smile that made his wrinkled green face light up.  
  
"Hi Yoda!" Devon replied. Though this was his first time meeting Yoda, Mr. Makatzo's interesting visitors didn't bother him anymore. It was fairly common to come back here and find the old man having a philosophical discussion with Luke Skywalker, playing Podracer on the Playstation with Artoo Detoo, or talking politics with Princess Leia. Though he had to admit it had scared him the time he'd entered the room to find Boba Fett using a life-sized statue of Jar Jar Binks for target practice.  
  
"Ah, you've met my Jedi Master," Mr. Makatzo noted, setting a plate of coconut cookies and a glass of tea next to the veggie platter. "Yoda comes out of his painting once a year to inspect your world and see if it's ready for our people."  
  
Yoda nodded. "Decided to accompany Devon in his travels I have. Be able to view this world better I will."  
  
Devon grinned. "I'd be glad to show him around."  
  
"Ah, splendid!" Mr. Makatzo said with a huge smile. "I think you'll be pleased with this young man, Master Yoda. He's a good boy."  
  
Yoda gazed thoughtfully at him, tapping his chin with a clawed finger. "How feel you?"  
  
"Excited," Devon said truthfully. Come on, how many kids ever got the opportunity to play tour guide to Yoda?  
  
But the ancient Jedi's green eyes seemed to probe further into Devon's emotions. "Something to tell Master Makatzo you have."  
  
"Oh yeah," he recalled. In his excitement he'd totally forgotten about the dream. "Last night – last two nights actually – I've been having really weird dreams."  
  
"Ah, dreams," said Mr. Makatzo. "Portals to th' Force, lad. Tell us 'bout them."  
  
"Well, in the first dream, Darth Vader was fighting Emperor Palpatine…" he began, absently crumbling a cookie as he spoke.  
  
At first Mr. Makatzo and Yoda merely looked amused as Devon described the fight and Mothma's meeting with Vader. But as he kept talking, their expressions changed. Mr. Makatzo looked astonished, but Yoda's face went unexpectedly grim.  
  
"Is this bad?" asked Devon in conclusion.  
  
Yoda ignored the question. "Saw the beginning of the end of our world you did."  
  
"You mean that's how it happened?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"But what does it mean? Why did I dream it?"  
  
Mr. Makatzo shot Yoda a "let-me-explain-this" look before answering. "Devon, y' are th' only one on this planet that knows of our comin'. It's only logical that y' know th' whole story. Th' Force is ensurin' that."  
  
"But why don't you just tell me?" asked Devon, puzzled.  
  
Yoda opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and revised it. "Painful it is to discuss it, Devon."  
  
"Oh." He stared at the cookie bits that now littered the table. "Sorry."  
  
"Don't be, lad," Mr. Makatzo told him gently. "It ain't your fault you're dreamin'."  
  
Yoda's long pointed ears twitched once. "Entered the store someone has."  
  
"Devon, will y' go help our customer, please?" asked Mr. Makatzo.  
  
It was a dismissal, and Devon knew it. All the same, he didn't complain but went straight to the cash register. He understood that grownups needed to talk privately sometimes.  
  
While Devon rang up the sale, Yoda finished his celery stick, and then addressed his fellow Jedi.  
  
"Told him the truth you should have, Akri."  
  
He snorted and took Devon's untouched cup, draining it in one gulp. "Th' lad's got 'nough problems to chew on, Master Yoda. He's havin' problems at school, he has to put up with bullies and that spoiled older sister of his, and he's seen as little more than a geek even by his family. He doesn't need this on top of it."  
  
"Need you to leave him unexpectedly he does not," Yoda retorted. His features and voice softened with concern. "Your heart. Still bothers you does it?" He raised his cane and tapped Mr. Makatzo's sternum.  
  
"Th' chest pains aren't gettin' any worse, Master," he insisted.  
  
"But getting better they are not, hmmm?" He shook his head. "Doing Devon any favors you are not, Akri, by hiding that from him."  
  
"Oh honestly, Yoda!" Mr. Makatzo swept the crumbs off the table with a leathery hand. "Just 'cause th' lad's havin' Force-spawned nightmares doesn't mean I'm fixin' t' go one with th' Force!"  
  
"Knew of this you did when gave Devon this responsibility you did." Yoda unexpectedly smiled. "Remind me of a certain youngling he does, though. Very bright, but awkward, given to fetishes."  
  
Mr. Makatzo gazed in the direction of the shop. "Y' think he's that much like me?"  
  
"Indeed. And suspect I do that why you love the boy you do. Wish to hurt him you do not. But hurt him far more your death will if unexpected it is."  
  
The old shopkeeper nodded, tears in his eyes. "Then it's soon."  
  
"Suggest that these dreams do. Preparing him for this responsibility they are." He gave his comrade a penetrating stare. "Tell him you must, Akri. Soon."  
  
He sighed deeply. "Tomorrow. When he comes to work in th' afternoon. I'll plan what t' say t' him tonight."  
  
--------  
  
Corusant.  
  
For two years the Stardestroyer Executor had served the Imperial Navy as a harbinger of doom. Now, however, she was a vessel of mercy, a last hope for thousands of desperate refugees.  
  
The infamous starship hung in Corusant's evening sky, its shuttles landing to unload the first of over thirteen thousand refugees that Vader and his men had managed to gather from dozens of now-vanished worlds. Admiral Piett watched all this from the bridge, face grim. Hundreds of Outer-Rim worlds and their stars had simply disappeared into oblivion – Kamino, Geonosis, Bakura, Tatooine, Endor, Bespin, and others. And for every life they managed to save, a million more perished.  
  
The Alliance High Command had been quite skeptical of Vader's tale at first – who wouldn't be? – and imprisoned him. But Mothma, knowing even Vader wouldn't lie about something of this magnitude, had sent scout teams to various parts of the galaxy to verify the story. She found, of course, that he had been perfectly correct, and had reluctantly recruited him to the Rebellion's cause – which had gone from liberating the galaxy to salvaging what they could of it before it was gone.  
  
"More refugees are on their way via the Devastator and Avenger, my Lord," Piett reported to his superior.  
  
Vader nodded slightly in acknowledgement, his gaze fixed on the planet's surface.  
  
"My Lord," Piett told him, "there was nothing you could do to stop this once the Emperor made up his mind. This isn't your fault."  
  
Vader's gaze never wavered. "If I had never helped the madman further his plans for dominion in the first place, it never would have come to this," he said quietly. "My blindness has doomed our entire galaxy."  
  
Piett felt a stab of empathy for the man – his battle with his master had totally broken his spirit. He would never again be the same intimidating warlord he had been a mere six months ago. And for the rest of his life he would never stop blaming himself for this black apocalypse.  
  
"Is this evacuation even going to help anything?" demanded Boba Fett, barging onto the bridge as if he owned the place. "If the galaxy's going to chaos, what good will rounding up the survivors do but postpone the inevitable?"  
  
"Mothma's orders," Piett replied. He really didn't know why Mothma was insisting on saving as many as possible either. Perhaps being a Rebel had instilled a permanent drive to fight for life in her. "Did anyone else from Jabba's palace accompany you off Tatooine?"  
  
Fett snorted. "The slug wouldn't come. Vowed to go down with the ship. And his entourage was too frightened to leave him. He did give up Solo, though." He idly toyed with a vibroblade. "Why did you drag Tuskens back with you? The savages don't have any idea what's going on and are raising havoc."  
  
"A personal debt of mine," Vader replied, turning to face the hunter. "And to answer your first question, we have a reason for saving as many lives as possible."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Piett.  
  
"Many years ago," Vader explained, "a scouting party discovered a rift in the fabric of space. No one knew what had caused it. But when we investigated further, we found it was a gateway to an alternate universe."  
  
"Okay, now I know you're spinning tales," Fett growled.  
  
"I have no cause to lie, Fett," Vader replied. "It is Mothma's belief that this reality will be spared from our galaxy's collapse, and that we can perhaps begin a new life there."  
  
"But what of the natives of this other world?" asked Piett. "Will they accept us?"  
  
"There is only one way to find out," Vader replied cryptically.  
  
-------  
  
Earth.  
  
Devon wriggled out of bed. "Not again."  
  
Yoda looked up from contemplating the cover of a Jedi Apprentice book. "Another dream you had."  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Forget you do that a Jedi I am?" he inquired with a smile. "Besides, talk in your sleep you do."  
  
"They're so real," Devon mumbled, pulling on his Anakin Skywalker T-shirt. "It felt like I was Piett, that I was in his skin, talking like him."  
  
Yoda nodded. "Talk to Master Makatzo about that you should."  
  
"I will today after school," Devon vowed. He stuffed a few clonetrooper figures and his book report on Vector Prime into his backpack. "All right, I'm off for school. I'll be back to pick you up before we go to the store…"  
  
"Accompany you I will, Devon."  
  
He looked skeptically down at the Jedi. Yesterday he had smuggled Yoda into the house with his backpack. But today there was no chance of that, for his books took up too much room.  
  
"In your bag, on top of your books, put me. Worry about the rest I will."  
  
"Okay," Devon said unsurely. Was Yoda going to do a Force trick to make himself invisible?  
  
Yoda was much lighter than he looked, thought Devon as he tromped downstairs and sat down for breakfast. But his head, shoulders, and arms stuck out of the bag. Would anyone notice…  
  
"Devon, stop dragging your stupid toys to school if you want to keep getting picked on for being a geek," snapped Britney, flouncing into the kitchen.  
  
"What do you care?" Devon shot back. "Besides, what toys?"  
  
"That stupid Yoda doll," she replied, kicking the backpack as she walked by. "That thing's so ugly. Why's the weird elf so popular anyway?"  
  
"'Cuz he's smarter than you and all your friends put together," Devon retorted, looking down. Yoda held perfectly still, looking for all the world like a life-sized doll. Devon grinned. Despite being from another galaxy, he sure knew how to survive in this one.  
  
"Will you two please stop fighting?" demanded Dad from behind the morning paper. He sounded as if he hadn't slept well.  
  
"Dad, he's so embarrassing," complained Britney. "All my friends have normal little brothers that play soccer and Playstation and Pokemon. Mine's just a geek! Can't you make him…"  
  
"You can't make me do anything," Devon told her, sneaking a banana and a blueberry waffle under the table. From what Mr. Makatzo had told him, Yoda was a confirmed vegetarian – maybe that would come in handy at dinner, especially if they were having okra or brussel sprouts again.  
  
"Britney, Devon, please," moaned Dad.  
  
Devon crammed half of a maple-syrup-soaked waffle in his mouth before picking up his backpack and heading for the door. Yoda had managed to turn himself around in the bag so his feet stuck out, humming contentedly as he enjoyed his breakfast.  
  
Though school was walking distance away, he always tried to take the bus to avoid tangling with Steel's gang. As a geek, he was a popular target of theirs, and at their hands he'd suffered everything from trips into the dumpster to spending half-hour stretches in his locker. And despite his best efforts, he still occasionally crossed paths with them.  
  
"Hey geek!"  
  
He spotted Steel and two of his henchmen – the scrawny but generally nasty nerd known as Sticks and the ball of fat everyone tagged Stones – getting off the next bus down. He ran into the building and tried to get to class as fast as he could, but they caught up with him in the halls.  
  
"If it ain't Darth Weirdo," sneered Sticks. Sticks made Devon look tough in comparison, but his main weapon was his cruel wit, and when it did come to blows he could fight dirty. "Got any lunch money or did you blow it on action figures?"  
  
"Let's pound him," grunted Stones. Stones gave the appearance of being slightly dimmer than a sack of potting soil, but no one told that to a kid who could pass off as the spawn of Jabba the Hutt. Whether his nickname referred to his brawn or his brains, who could say?  
  
Devon tried to duck past Sticks to get to class, but Steel grabbed him by the backpack and dragged him back.  
  
"What's the hurry, geek-freak?" he demanded. "We ain't properly said hello yet. What's this? Santa's elf?"  
  
"Isn't that Yoda?" asked Stones, looking interested.  
  
"Give that back!" shouted Devon, suddenly terrified, as Sticks yanked Yoda from the pack by his robe front.  
  
"Why should I?" Sticks demanded. "Always wanted a Yoda doll. He'd look good hanging from my bedroom ceiling… ow!"  
  
Yoda fell to the floor. Devon scooped him up and stuffed him back into the bag.  
  
"It bit me!" Sticks shouted, nursing his hand.  
  
"Dolls don't bite," Stones pointed out, which was the most intelligent thing Devon had heard him say all year.  
  
"Something wrong, boys?"  
  
The four of them whirled to see the principal, Mr. Harvey, watching them.  
  
"Uh… the geek… I mean David here… was just showing us his Yoda doll…" stammered Steel.  
  
"It's Devon," Devon corrected, "and they were trying to steal him." Normally have ratted on any of Steel's cronies for fear of retaliation, but they'd gone too far this time in trying to hurt Yoda.  
  
"I see," Mr. Harvey noted. His gaze moved to Steel, Sticks, and Stones. "Jedidiah, Neville, Buzz, please come to my office. Devon, please leave your toys at home from now on. It'd be a shame for that nice Yoda doll to be broken on the playground."  
  
Devon received three venomous glowers as Steel and his gang followed Mr. Harvey. He groaned as he entered Ms. Gingham's classroom. Boy, was he in for it after school!  
  
"The bullies those are?" Yoda inquired softly as Devon set his backpack under his chair.  
  
"Some of them," Devon whispered. "Sticks and Stones follow Steel around constantly, but he's got others in his gang too – Bubba, Spike, the Hulk, Two-Ton Trevor, Jackhammer, the Cyborg. They pick on everyone, but I'm their favorite punching bag."  
  
"Hmmm," mused Yoda. "Unusual names those are."  
  
"They're not their real names," Devon replied. "They use 'wrestling names.' Makes them feel tougher, I guess."  
  
"Unsatisfied with themselves they are," Yoda noted. "See themselves highly they do not. So raise themselves higher by beating others down they do."  
  
"Never thought of it that way before. Hey, can you hand me my book report?"  
  
Ms. Gingham was a patient woman and knew of Devon's obsession, so she only smiled when she spotted Yoda under his desk and collected his Vector Prime book report.  
  
"All right, clear your desks, students," she told them. "It's time for your math test."  
  
There was a universal groan as she handed out the papers. Devon slid his closer. Multiplying double-digit numbers – oh brother. He hated double digits.  
  
As the rest of class bent industriously over their papers, he carefully toed his backpack. "Hey, what's twenty-four times fifteen?"  
  
"Help you cheat I will not."  
  
"Please? If I flunk the test Mom'll ground me!"  
  
"If pass by dishonest means you do, the worse it will be."  
  
Devon huffed. Why did Yoda have to be difficult?  
  
"Four times five."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Four times five," Yoda repeated.  
  
"Easy. Twenty."  
  
"Devon, no talking please," Ms. Gingham chided.  
  
"Sorry." He stared at the problem. How was four times five going to help…  
  
/Trust me./  
  
He nearly jumped out of his chair. Yoda was speaking to him through the Force!  
  
/Listen carefully. Four times five twenty makes. Below the line the zero put and over the two in twenty-four the two put…/  
  
With Yoda's gentle coaching, Devon was able to solve the problem. And with a few reminders he was able to make it through the test. When the tests came back after lunch, Devon's was the only 100 percent in the class.  
  
"I thought you said you couldn't help me," Devon whispered once the final bell had rung.  
  
"Said I did that help you cheat I would not," Yoda replied through a mouthful of the chef's salad Devon had slipped into his pack. "Helped you cheat I did not. Only gave advice I did."  
  
"Hey geek!"  
  
Devon cringed. "Steel!"  
  
"Behind there," ordered Yoda.  
  
He ran behind the dumpster and crouched down. "Hope they didn't see us."  
  
"Saw us they did."  
  
"Dang! I'm in trouble!"  
  
"Not if help it I can." Yoda grinned slyly. "Have a plan I do."  
  
"Hey Darth Wimpy," sneered Sticks, strutting leisurely up to Devon.  
  
"Not smart to rat on the principal, geek," growled Steel, clamping a giant hand on his shoulder. "You know that only leads to trouble."  
  
"Hey, let's rip up the doll," Sticks suggested, yanking Yoda out of the pack by his ear. "Teach freak-boy here a lesson."  
  
"Give him back!" Devon cried, reaching out for him.  
  
Sticks laughed derisively and threw Yoda to Stones. Stones grinned and tossed him to Steel. Steel held him over his head and laughed nastily at Devon's efforts to grab him.  
  
"What comes off first?" asked Steel. "The head? The arms?"  
  
"How 'bout the ears?" suggested Sticks.  
  
"Come off nothing does, boys," Yoda said firmly.  
  
There was a moment of silence. Then Steel dropped Yoda and backed away as if he were a rattlesnake, screaming all the while.  
  
"It talks!" shrieked Stones.  
  
Yoda got to his feet. He leaned on his cane and fixed each boy in turn with a studious stare. Devon couldn't keep a smirk off his face. Steel, Sticks, and Stones quailed under the Jedi Master's gaze.  
  
"Rather disrespectful toward a Jedi Master you younglings are."  
  
Sticks was the first to recover. "Oh yeah? What's it to you, Big Ears?"  
  
"Yeah," sneered Steel, scraping together his bruised ego. "Bring it on, Shorty."  
  
Stones wasn't as dumb as he looked, Devon thought. In fact, he might well have been the most intelligent one of the bunch. He was backing away, looking more and more terrified by the second. No doubt he'd seen Attack of the Clones and the Yoda/Dooku fight scene had made an impression.  
  
"I'm warning you, you don't want to mess with him," Devon said casually.  
  
"Shut up, geek-face," Steel snarled. "You're next, you know." And he charged with a feral yell.  
  
Yoda waited patiently until there was no way Steel could stop himself in time, then stepped aside with a swiftness at odds with his age. There was a satisfying clang as Steel's thick skull met the side of the dumpster. With a pained yowl he danced around clutching his head.  
  
"Why you little green rat!" Sticks shouted, and he ran forward to grab Yoda. But a gimer-stick to the shins brought him to his knees.  
  
"Go Yoda!" cheered Devon.  
  
Yoda made a show of examining his cane for dents. "Gave me a better workout my younglings did."  
  
The battle was fairly one-sided, as Steel and Sticks kept eating grass and smacking the dumpster, losing bravado with every attack. Yoda acted bored as he shrugged off each charge with a quick sidestep or a well-placed whack with his cane, but Devon was sure he was enjoying himself. Stones, meanwhile, hadn't moved in some time, paralyzed with fright.  
  
At last Steel and Sticks gave up, Steel still rubbing his head, Sticks nursing a scrape on his elbow.  
  
"Had enough?" asked Devon.  
  
The two of them shot him looks of hatred laced with fear, then bolted.  
  
Yoda chuckled. "Bother you again they will not."  
  
Devon's elation drained with a sobering thought. "I don't think that was a good idea."  
  
"What want you?" Yoda snorted. "A battalion of assassin droids?"  
  
"But now that they know you exist…"  
  
"Believe them who will?"  
  
"Good point." He jerked his thumb toward Stones. "But what about him?"  
  
Yoda hummed a little to himself and hobbled closer to the boy. Stones backed away with a little whimper.  
  
"Easy, youngling," he told him. "Harm you I will not. Your name?"  
  
"B-B-Buzz," he stammered. "T-the others call m-me Stones."  
  
"Hello, Buzz. Met Devon have you?"  
  
"Oh, that's the geek's name?" He offered Devon a weak smile. "Y-you're not gonna sic Yoda on me, are you?"  
  
"No, he was only protecting me from Steel and Sticks."  
  
"Oh." His fear was slowly dissipating, to be replaced with curiosity. "Uh… where'd he come from?"  
  
Devon looked at Yoda. "Can we tell him?"  
  
Yoda gave Buzz his soul-searching look. "Misguided he is, but pure his heart is. Tell him we can."  
  
"Come with us to the Mos Espa Street Market," Devon invited. "You've got to meet Mr. Makatzo."  
  
"That weird old man with the funny nose?" Buzz didn't look too sure.  
  
"Trust me, he's cool." Devon leaned forward and lowered his voice. "He's a Jedi Knight."  
  
Buzz's eyes threatened to burst out of their sockets. "Wow, cool!" But then his eagerness began to fade. "If Yoda's real… and the old man's a Jedi… is… is Darth Vader real too?"  
  
"Yeah," Devon replied easily. "But he's not evil anymore," he added hastily.  
  
"Cool! Can I meet him?"  
  
Devon laughed. "I didn't know you were a Star Wars fan, Buzz."  
  
"Well… Steel and Sticks don't like geeks. And if they knew I was one I'd get pounded too."  
  
"So? Hang with us from now on! If Steel and Sticks give you any grief, Yoda can cream them. And I'm sure you can give Steel a run for his money…"  
  
Before Buzz could reply, Yoda's entire dwarven body tensed visibly, his knuckles going white around his cane. His eyes and ears focused in the direction of Mr. Makatzo's store. Instantly Devon's stomach turned to lead.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
"In trouble Akri is," he replied simply. With a single leap he dove into Devon's bag. "To the store. Quickly!"  
  
"What's going on?" asked Buzz as Devon slung the pack over his shoulder.  
  
"Told him this was coming I did," was all Yoda would say.  
  
The two boys ran down the street, their backpacks thumping into their backs with every step. The knot in Devon's stomach tightened with every breath he took. What had happened to Mr. Makatzo? Had he fallen? Had there been a robbery? Was he hurt?  
  
"In there," ordered Yoda, pointing down a decrepit-looking alley.  
  
"But that's gang turf!" protested Buzz.  
  
"Go in," Yoda insisted. "Protected you are."  
  
Buzz hesitated, then ducked into the alley. Two seconds later a horrified shriek rang from the walls.  
  
"Buzz?!" Devon bolted in after him.  
  
He stopped short. Towering over the three of them was a man in battered armor, gazing calculatingly at them through his T-slit visor. He had a blaster pointed in Buzz's direction, but he slowly lowered it when he realized who he'd drawn on.  
  
"Foolish it is to walk the streets in your armor, Boba Fett," Yoda scolded.  
  
"There wasn't time to change," Fett rasped harshly. His gaze rested on Buzz. "Who's this?"  
  
"A friend," Devon replied. "Don't worry, Buzz. Fett's on our side."  
  
Buzz nodded, still speechless.  
  
Fett crouched. "Put your arms around my neck, boys."  
  
Puzzled, they obeyed. He took each of them by the waist and lifted them easily.  
  
"You wouldn't mind doing one of your Jedi mind tricks to make us invisible, would you, Yoda?" Fett asked.  
  
"I will." Yoda closed his eyes in concentration.  
  
"What are we…" began Devon.  
  
There was a hollow roar like a propane torch, and the four of them rose into the air. Devon gulped and tightened his grip.  
  
"Easy boys, I won't drop you," Fett assured them. "Devon, you're going to choke me."  
  
"This is cool!" Buzz gushed as they soared over the rooftops of a city suddenly gone miniature.  
  
"What's going on?" demanded Devon. "What's wrong with Mr. Makatzo?"  
  
"You haven't told him?" Fett snapped at Yoda. "Jedi and their mental games!" To Devon he said, "Mr. Makatzo's just suffered a massive heart attack."  
  
"What?!" Devon exclaimed.  
  
"Vader and Skywalker are with him," Fett continued. "They're working to keep him stable, but he doesn't have much time. He needs to speak to you before he dies."  
  
"He can't die!" Devon shouted. "Yoda, you can heal him! You can save him! Please!"  
  
"Strong am I in the Force," Yoda replied gravely. "But not that strong."  
  
Fett touched down in front of the store. Luckily, the street was deserted, this being a less-frequented area of town, so no one saw them land and run into the shop.  
  
"Devon!" exclaimed a stormtrooper, waving him toward the back. "Back here! Quick!"  
  
"I'll call 911," Buzz offered, running for the phone.  
  
Devon ran past a Lego display, where the bent frames and tattered canvas of three pictures lay amidst a glittering carpet of broken glass – the paintings of Luke, Fett, and Vader and his personal guards. It looked as if Mr. Makatzo's heart attack had struck as he was carrying the pictures. Dropping them had been a stroke of luck, however, as it had freed their occupants so they might help him.  
  
He burst into the apartment. The other five troopers clustered in a tight knot around the couch where Mr. Makatzo lay, as if to protect him from further harm. Devon kicked one in the shins to get him to move aside. The man gave a yelp and stepped back.  
  
Vader and Luke knelt by the stricken Jedi, Luke cupping the old man's head in his hands, Vader with his hands over Mr. Makatzo's heart as if he'd been performing CPR. Devon's own heart hammered in his throat as he ran to his friend's side and took his hand. His skin was ashen and clammy, and he gasped for every breath.  
  
"Luke, can you heal him?" pleaded Devon, staring up into Luke's eyes.  
  
He shook his head sadly. "His heart's too old, Devon. It's his time to go."  
  
"He can't go!" he screamed in reply.  
  
"There's nothing more we can do, son," Vader told him gently, "except keep him alive long enough to talk to you."  
  
"Devon?" Mr. Makatzo sounded so faint he could barely make out the words. "So good… t' see y'…"  
  
"You can make it," urged Devon desperately. "You can fight it. There's an ambulance coming real soon! You can make it 'til then!"  
  
"Th' dreams…" he whispered hoarsely. "Sorry I didn't… tell y' sooner… they've been… a sign… that our times… have come…"  
  
"What do you mean?" demanded Devon.  
  
"My time… t' join th' Force… and your time… t' be keeper… of the paintings… until th' time… is right…"  
  
"But you can't die! Mr. Makatzo, don't leave me! I don't want you to go!"  
  
"Oh lad…" His grip on Devon's hand tightened, as if the last of his life force was being transferred to that limb. "I'll always… be with y'… always…"  
  
Hot tears were sliding down Devon's cheeks now. He was hardly aware of Vader's hand on his shoulder, or of Buzz bursting into the room to announce the paramedics were on their way.  
  
"You're like… th' son I never had… Devon… I love y'…"  
  
"No," Devon whimpered.  
  
Mr. Makatzo's grip relaxed, and a serene expression came over his leathery face. He was gone.  
  
"No…"  
  
Devon buried his face in Mr. Makatzo's chest, sobbing uncontrollably, as Buzz, Luke, Vader, Fett, and the troopers looked on sympathetically.  
  
-------  
  
Corusant.  
  
It was an odd crowd, thought Luke, that gathered in what used to be Emperor Palpatine's conference room in the Imperial Palace. In addition to himself and his friends Leia, Han, Chewie, and the droids, there were various Imperial and Rebel leaders including Mothma and Vader, Prime Minister Laama Su of Kamino and his advisor Taun We, Geonosian warlord Poggle the Lesser, several cowering Neimodians, Baron Administrator of Cloud City Lando Calrissian, Boba Fett and a gaggle of assorted bounty hunters that skulked in a corner, Wookie, Tusken, and Jawa chieftains, Boss Nass of the Gungans of Naboo, and many more. All were uneasily awaiting the return of the scouting party Vader had ordered to Earth three weeks ago.  
  
Han, now several days free of the carbonite, leaned over to Luke. "Ever think it would come to this, kid?"  
  
"No," he replied. "But it goes to show how twisted Palpatine was. And on the other hand…" He nodded at the head of the table, where Mothma and Vader stood side by side. "…It shows that, despite all that's happened, the galaxy can still pull together in a crisis."  
  
"Yeah, it's amazing who you can call friend when someone turns the heat up," Han muttered.  
  
The doors hissed open, and a single scouttrooper, his armor battered and filthy, entered the room.  
  
"Where is the rest of your party, soldier?" asked Vader.  
  
"Dead and gone," he replied in a thick Nar Shadda brogue. "Big war tearin' up th' planet, there is."  
  
Nervous glances were exchanged. The people of this galaxy were used to fighting by now, but jumping from one war-torn world to another wasn't a comforting thought.  
  
"Aside from the war, what is the state of Earth right now?" asked Mothma.  
  
The trooper hesitated. "Uh… nice place… but they're not caught up with us technology-wise…"  
  
"Don't sugar-coat it," rasped Poggle. "Spit it out."  
  
"Okay," he replied. "They ain't even invented th' computer yet, let alone starcraft and blasters."  
  
A collective groan filled the room.  
  
"That decides it," moaned Rune Haako. "We're doomed."  
  
"Wesa not doomed," boomed Boss Nass, scowling at the Trade Federation viceroy. "Wesa adapt. Yousa can learn to live like dem."  
  
"Why not simply wait until their society has reached our state?" suggested Laama Su.  
  
"We're rapidly running out of time, Prime Minister," Vader replied. "Thousands of systems are already gone. The destruction has reached as far into the core as Bestine and works its way deeper into the core every day we delay."  
  
"We need not wait here," Laama Su crooned. "Why not put ourselves into suspended animation…"  
  
"Oh, great idea," Han replied sarcastically. "For your information, sir, sitting in carbonite for who-knows-how-long isn't exactly a walk in the park."  
  
Luke noticed that the scouttrooper had gone rather funny at the mention of suspended animation. He was shifting his weight alternately between his heels and the balls of his feet, as if waiting for a break in the argument so he could jump in and speak.  
  
"…Not to mention that freezing people in carbonite has been known to kill them half the time," Lando was saying.  
  
"Aren't there alternatives?" hissed Bossk from the hunters' corner of the room. "I hear Jedi can put people in Force-sleeps that can keep them alive for centuries." He glared at Yoda, whom Luke had whisked off of Dagobah mere hours before the planet had vanished forever.  
  
"Lost those secrets were when destroyed the Order was," Yoda replied gravely.  
  
The trooper was practically bouncing up and down now. Luke opened his mouth to speak on his behalf but was cut off.  
  
"Well, what other choice do we have?" Threepio stated in translation as a Wookie chief went on a tirade. "If we go to this Earth now, they'll probably panic and kill us. You see what they've done to our scouts."  
  
"We can't stay here either," snapped Fett. "It's only a matter of time before we all burn in chaos."  
  
"I'm afraid he has a valid argument, Fett," Leia replied.  
  
By now the trooper had apparently had enough of being ignored. He gave an exasperated sigh, drew a deep breath, and whistled piercingly. The room went quiet.  
  
"I know a tad 'bout suspended animation," he told them. "Studied it for years 'fore becomin' a trooper."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Mothma.  
  
Yoda smiled. "Help us this man can. An ordinary trooper he is not, but a Jedi. Thought he still lived I did not."  
  
Disbelieving murmurs rippled across the room. A Jedi in the guise of a stormtrooper?  
  
"Figured th' best place t' hide was right under his Royal Lowliness' nose," he replied, and with great relish he yanked off his helmet.  
  
The Jedi had a tanned face with a hooked nose, dark gray eyes, and a black beard and mustache generously seasoned with gray. His jet-black hair was streaked here and there with silver and had been pulled back into a ponytail that reached between his shoulder blades. Luke immediately recognized him from a holofile containing portraits of Jedi researchers. But how had he managed to survive the Purges?  
  
Vader offered the man a respectful bow. "We would be deeply indebted to you if you aided us, Jedi Knight Akri Makatzo."  
  
---------  
  
Earth.  
  
Devon jerked awake. "Mr. Makatzo?"  
  
But only the Mace Windu poster on the opposite wall looked back at him. For one moment – one wild, sweet moment – he thought he'd seen Mr. Makatzo again. But it had only been a dream. The younger Mr. Makatzo was only a Force-dream; his old friend had been taken away to the city morgue, gone from his life forever.  
  
Devon yanked the covers back over his head, crying anew. Memories of him and the old man discussing the movies over tea and snacks, playing board games, laughing together, talking with Yoda or Luke or some other character, spilled unbidden into his mind. The thought of never seeing his friend again was too much to take.  
  
/And I'm not ready/ he thought despondently. /I'm not ready to be keeper of the paintings. I can't do it by myself./  
  
Then a voice entered his head, a voice that was familiar but totally unlike his own or Mr. Makatzo's.  
  
/Mr. Makatzo will be with you always, Devon./  
  
He shot upright. "Obi-wan?"  
  
The Jedi was nowhere to be seen. But Devon had certainly heard him. He waited awhile, wondering if Obi-wan had anything else to say, but there was only silence.  
  
He took a deep breath and blew his nose on the sheets. Hearing Kenobi speak gave him new resolve. After all, according to the Jedi Code there was no emotion, only peace. His grief would never entirely go, but he wouldn't let it interfere with his mission – to keep the paintings and those within them safe until Yoda said it was time to release them into the world.  
  
Voices drifted up from the living room, and he could hear the front door open and shut. Wondering what was going on, he got out of bed and changed into play clothes.  
  
I hope it's not the medical guys again. When the paramedics had shown up at the store yesterday, Buzz had fielded their questions while Devon had hurriedly repainted Yoda and the others into their frames. But the coroner had cornered him at home later for more information – more than Devon was able to give. It had been Britney, surprisingly enough, who had chased them off, screaming at them to "quit torturing my little brother! Can't you see he's been hurt enough?"  
  
A female police officer sat in the living room, talking to Mom and Dad.  
  
"Here's Devon," the officer smiled, holding out her hand. "I'm Detective Myers. I think you know my son."  
  
Devon studied her face as he shook her hand. "I didn't know Buzz's mom was a cop," he said, though now he could see the family resemblance in the eyes and mouth. Buzz must have gotten his paunch from his dad, however, because Detective Myers was built a lot like Natalie Portman.  
  
"Yes, Buzz told me you were very upset over Mr. Makatzo," she replied, linking her fingers together before her. "Which is why I'm here to talk to you."  
  
Devon snuggled down between his parents on the couch, not minding the protective arms around his shoulders for once. He remembered Myers from the time when hoods had broken into the store and unwittingly freed Vader – she'd been the cop who'd given him a ride home. But he didn't want to point that out; thinking about Mr. Makatzo for too long hurt.  
  
"Nobody seems to know much about Mr. Makatzo," she explained. "You seem to be his closest friend, so we were hoping you might know a little about him."  
  
Of course he knew about Mr. Makatzo. But he wasn't about to tell anyone, even a cop who happened to be his new friend's mom. They'd never believe him.  
  
"He wasn't born in America," he tried. Maybe he could get out of this without outright lying.  
  
"Can you be a little more specific?"  
  
Okay, so he would have to lie. "He's a Czechoslovakian immigrant," he said, then added "He came here during World War II." At least that last part was the truth – Earth had been at war when the Star Wars galaxy had been evacuated.  
  
"Did he have any family?"  
  
"He never had a wife or kids." True, since Mr. Makatzo would never breach the Jedi Code unless absolutely necessary. "If he had any other family, he never talked about them. I never saw family pictures either." Also true; Mr. Makatzo had been an orphan when the Jedi Order discovered him in a foundling home on Nar Shadda.  
  
Detective Myers nodded, looking grim. "Do you know if he kept a will?"  
  
"No."  
  
She sighed. "This complicates things."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"We'd hoped to find his next-of-kin," she explained. "But seeing as he has no family and we can't find a will anywhere, we're having trouble finding the heir of his estate."  
  
"Heir of his estate?" repeated Dad.  
  
"Though I wouldn't call it an estate exactly. He didn't have much but his store and some collectibles. And those paintings – thousands of them in his basement." She shook her head in wonder.  
  
Something clicked in Devon's mind. "About six months ago… he told me I could have his paintings when he died."  
  
"Okay," she replied. "Were there any witnesses to that conversation?"  
  
There had been witnesses – seven of them. But who would believe Darth Vader and his guards had been there? "No, there wasn't."  
  
She frowned. "I'm sorry, Devon, but a judge isn't going to take a boy's word as a last will or testament. I can't get you the paintings."  
  
His stomach seemed to dissolve. "But he promised…"  
  
"We've called every lawyer in the county," Cook explained. "None of them have had a client named Akri Makatzo. We'll keep looking, son, but I can't make any promises."  
  
He was almost too afraid to ask. "What's going to happen to his stuff?"  
  
"Most likely it will be auctioned off at an estate sale."  
  
Panic gripped him. "B-but the paintings…" He turned to Dad. "Can't we get a lawyer, Dad? Mr. Makatzo promised…"  
  
"Look, Devon, I know you'll miss him," Dad told him. "But we just don't have that kind of money. Look, we'll go to the estate sale and pick up one or two of your favorites…"  
  
"He promised me all of them!" Devon shouted angrily.  
  
"Devon!" Mom called as he ran off to his room.  
  
He flung himself onto the bed and cried harder than ever. How could this happen? It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to get the paintings... he was supposed to guard them until the time was right… he was supposed to help Mr. Makatzo…  
  
But thanks to a huge legal glitch, the paintings were lost to him. The fate of his Star Wars friends could only be grim, for how could he guarantee that the paintings would stay safe when they were scattered the-Force-knew-where? And his parents didn't even seem to care! Granted, they didn't know Mr. Makatzo like he did, but couldn't they at least try to help him?  
  
No one objected when he stayed home sick from school that day.  
  
--------  
  
Corusant.  
  
Akri blinked moisture from his eyes as he stared up into the night sky. Even on this planet that never slept, it had once been possible to see the brighter stars of the galaxy. Now, though few lights were on as the planet bedded down and resigned itself to a final night, the sky was a blank slab of basalt. Their galaxy was totally gone – except the capitol.  
  
And even Corusant's time was short. It was only a matter of hours before it slipped into nonexistence.  
  
He shook his head and bent down to collect his things -- a suitcase, Earth-style, containing a few items that an Eastern-European immigrant fleeing his war-ravaged homeland might take to America, a small satchel with his U.S. citizenship papers and a claim to a bank vault where his paintings resided, and a durasteel trunk carrying his Jedi clothes, lightsaber, and severed Padawan braid, the last traces of a once-great galaxy.  
  
Heart heavy, he looked at the horizon, dim except for a mere scattering of lights. Those who had not been selected to make the journey between realities were most likely gathering with loved ones for final goodbyes, praying to whatever gods or deities they worshiped, or otherwise preparing for death. He ached for every life he couldn't save, but there just hadn't been time or resources to rescue all of them. As it was, they had only completed the preservation of the selected five thousand just in time.  
  
Luke and Yoda had been the first to go into the pictures, of course – the Jedi Order had to live on. After that had gone various leaders and diplomats to smooth over relations with the Earth natives once the time was right for colonization. The rest had been randomly selected from the remaining refugees and comprised beings from hundreds of cultures, races, and walks of life, from bounty hunters to religious leaders, from tribesmen to businessmen. Vader had been the last – as well as the most reluctant, for he still carried an enormous amount of guilt over this disaster. In the end he had agreed to the process that he might aid his son in re-establishing the Jedi Order.  
  
Akri sighed and slung his bags over his shoulder. He had often wondered why he had survived the attack on the Jedi Order and the subsequent Purges. It hadn't been as if he'd hidden in an obscure spot like Yoda or Kenobi. Now he saw why he had been spared – he'd had a mission to fulfill. The galaxy had needed his knowledge in order to obtain a second chance at life. The Force had known all along. It usually did.  
  
He didn't look back as he picked up the trunk and walked away, ready to begin a new life.  
  
--------  
  
Earth.  
  
Devon didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to face a world gone sour, to leave what he knew was the last chapter of the dream-story. He wanted to lay in that netherworld between sleep and consciousness and bask in memories.  
  
At last he rolled out of bed. It had been two weeks since Mr. Makatzo's death, and the police still couldn't track down his will, if he ever had one. Mom and Dad were sympathetic, but there wasn't much they could do. And they might have hired a lawyer to help Devon get the paintings, but almost all of their spare money was going toward Britney's trip to college this fall.  
  
Though today was the first day of summer vacation, Devon felt depressed. Today was also the estate sale. Dad had taken him by yesterday to look over the paintings and decide on a favorite, and the place was already swarming with geeks who were camped out around the auction site as if it were a theater showing sneak peeks at Episode III. There was more Star Wars memorabilia here than many of them had ever seen in their lives. And Devon was sure they would snap up every scrap of it.  
  
Devon had made a decision. He and Dad would bid on the Darth Vader painting. Then, when he got it home, he would shred it. Vader would help him track down the other paintings and destroy them as well, then they would take the refugees someplace safe and repaint their portraits. Thank the Force Mr. Makatzo had taught him the techniques for preserving someone in a picture. He'd meant it for use in an emergency – but then, this was a bona fide emergency if he ever saw one.  
  
"Devon?" Mom called through the door.  
  
He looked up from getting dressed. "Yeah mom?"  
  
"Buzz just called. He wanted to know if you wanted to come over to his house."  
  
"Maybe later." At least that had improved over the last two weeks – Buzz had become a bodyguard of sorts to him, beating off anyone who dared take potshots at the geek. Not that Steel and Sticks would come within ten feet of him anymore, thanks to Yoda.  
  
"Oh, and someone's downstairs to see you."  
  
Devon rolled his eyes. Probably the cops. He stomped down the stairs.  
  
/Don't be so angry, Devon./  
  
He froze in mid-step. What the heck was Obi-wan doing here again?  
  
/Anger is the path to the dark side./  
  
/I'm no Jedi, Obi-wan./  
  
/But you are now a Force user. Please, put away your anger. None of this is anyone's fault./  
  
/Except maybe Mr. Makatzo's./ He loved the old man like a grandfather, but that didn't keep him from being mad at him for neglecting to have a will.  
  
/Not even his fault. And believe me, he had a will./  
  
/Then where is it? How come the cops haven't found it yet?/  
  
/They haven't been looking hard enough. Go downstairs, Devon. Trust me./  
  
He paused as he reached the bottom of the steps and entered the kitchen. Mom and Dad sat at the table with a complete stranger, looking over papers. The man was tall and lanky, wearing a dark business suit, trench coat, glasses, and gray fedora. He looked so much like a detective from the old mystery movies – sans cheap cigar – that Devon wondered if Dad hadn't hired a private investigator to find Mr. Makatzo's lawyer.  
  
"Devon," his mom said with a broad smile. "This is Mr. Porter. He's here to help you."  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Devon," Mr. Porter greeted, holding out his hand. His voice had a pleasant English lilt to it.  
  
Devon tentatively shook the offered hand. "Are you a private eye?"  
  
Mr. Porter laughed. "No, son. I'm Harrison Porter, attorney-at-law. I'm Mr. Makatzo's lawyer."  
  
His heart leaped – even as part of him thought that any friend of Mr. Makatzo's ought to have a more exotic name.  
  
"Come sit down," Mr. Porter invited, tapping a chair beside him.  
  
Devon took the offer. Mr. Porter did seem nice enough. On the table in front of him, among the various papers, was a business card listing an address in London as the law offices of Harrison Porter. The card showed a picture of the scales of justice with a snowy white owl perched on the fulcrum.  
  
"No wonder the cops couldn't find his lawyer," Devon said. "You work in England. They wouldn't think to call around there."  
  
"Frankly, I'm surprised they didn't try Europe," Mr. Porter replied. "Mr. Makatzo did a lot of traveling in Europe to promote his store – it did attract fans from all over the world."  
  
"Yeah, he closed the store for a week in January to go to Scotland," Devon remembered. "That must have been when he filled out his will with you, huh?"  
  
"Sharp lad," Mr. Porter said approvingly. "And when I got the news of my client's death, I got here as fast as I could. I was just in time to call a halt to the estate sale."  
  
Relief swept through Devon.  
  
"Perhaps your son would like to look at the will," Mr. Porter told Mom and Dad.  
  
"Here it is," Dad told him, sliding the paper to him. "Though I don't know how it's going to work out."  
  
Devon bent over to read the will. It was short and to the point:  
  
"Everything goes to my dear friend Devon. My only request is that you keep the shop open."  
  
His eyes got very misty.  
  
"Reminded me very much of 'Secondhand Lions,'" Mr. Porter laughed.  
  
Devon laughed too. "'The kid gets it all. Just plant us in the damn garden with that stupid lion.'"  
  
"I don't know how we're going to manage a store," Dad lamented. "I have work, Devon's mom has a house to tend to…"  
  
"And Mr. Makatzo has an accountant who manages all his financial affairs," Mr. Porter told him. "Devon can open and close the store and run the cash register, I'm sure. And Mr. Makatzo had a fair sum of money in the bank meant exclusively for taking care of his shop. If you need help, I'm sure you can hire extra employees."  
  
"Honey, it's a small price to pay," Mom told Dad. "Those paintings mean a lot to Devon. And I can help him run a store."  
  
"Still, all this fuss over a bunch of paintings…" complained Dad.  
  
"I have to say that those paintings are far more than they seem," Mr. Porter replied, casting a knowing glance at Devon.  
  
Devon stared at Mr. Porter. Did he know?  
  
He could hardly wait for the adults to finish all their business and to corner the lawyer outside.  
  
"Is there something else I can help you with?" asked Mr. Porter as they walked out to his car together.  
  
"You know, don't you?" Devon asked. "You know about the paintings."  
  
Mr. Porter smiled. "Akri told me you were a very perceptive young man, Devon. I see he was right."  
  
Devon stopped and stared a moment. There was something oddly familiar about this man.  
  
"Who are you really? You're not Mr. Porter."  
  
He removed the fedora. "I'm a friend of Master Makatzo, Devon. A friend who came to the Jedi's aid in a desperate time of need."  
  
Devon's eyes moved from the robe-like trench coat to the tragic-yet-mischievous green eyes, to the wild black hair, to the jagged scar down his forehead as if someone had tried to crack his skull open.  
  
"Why did you help? Star Wars wasn't your world."  
  
"Why did you help, Devon?" he asked. "Star Wars isn't your world either."  
  
He hesitated. "Well… I like Star Wars. And I couldn't just sit there and do nothing…"  
  
"You felt an obligation to help, Devon. We all should. Because like it or not, all worlds are linked. What happens in one will affect another. And it's the responsibility of all worlds to ensure these survivors find a new home." He smiled. "And don't worry. That will should be enough to convince any Muggle judge on your world."  
  
As Devon watched, the wizard pulled his wand from a pocket of his trench coat, tapped the trunk of the car, and whispered "Alohalamora." It popped open, he withdrew a broom and a silvery cloak, and the car rumbled on its way by itself.  
  
"Um, what if someone sees…"  
  
"The owner lives just down the street. Don't worry, it won't go far." He mounted the broom. "Take care, Devon. Say hi to Luke for me."  
  
"Sure thing, Harry!"  
  
The adult Harry laughed as he kicked off, soaring into the air. He was visible only a moment more before he unfurled the Invisibility Cloak and flung it over himself, concealing wizard and broomstick from view.  
  
Devon stared into the sky, a smile on his face for the first time in weeks. Vader's words from six months ago came back to him.  
  
/"Reality is always an unstable thing. Learned men question it, the religious seek a way to breach it, the fatalistic deny it. And on occasion it fluctuates, giving individuals brief, wondrous tastes of what lies beyond their own plane."/  
  
He turned and went back to the house. Maybe he could go over to Buzz's and tell him the good news over a round of Jedi Outcast. 


	3. Nothing Awaits

**The Artist III – Nothing Awaits**

"Why does Mr. Wingate have to save all his huge assignments for the end of the year? I'm never gonna get 'A Wrinkle In Time' read by this weekend!"

"Be quiet, Buzz. You've known since April that we had to read that and do a report on it."

"I don't like books. Not like you. I bet you read the whole thing weeks ago."

"Yeah, it's the report that's gonna kill me. I hate writing. My penmanship sucks."

"Can't you type it?"

"Mom and Dad won't let me touch the computer for another month. Not since I tried to download 'Episode III' and Dad caught me at it."

"Dude, that's illegal, Devon. And you could get a computer virus."

"I know, but they won't let me go to the theater to see it either 'cause they think it's too violent, so I'm kinda stuck."

The two boys made an odd pair – bulky, swarthy Buzz Myers in his designer clothes and spiked haircut next to gangly, freckled Devon Phillips in his faded jeans, General Grievous T-shirt, and Luke-Skywalker-style hair. But anyone who knew them could tell you they were unlikely friends, which was surprising seeing as only a year ago Buzz was a member of a gang of schoolyard thugs whose sole pleasure in life came from making Devon's life miserable.

But that had changed. The two boys now shared a close bond – and an unlikely secret.

"Going anywhere over the weekend?" asked Devon. "We get Monday off…"

"Nah, Mom has to work. We'll probably go to the cemetery on Memorial Day and put flowers on my grandpa's grave. What about you?"

"We were going to go to the lake, but my uncle's boat broke down, so we'll probably just stay home and barbecue… what's that?"

"What's what?"

Devon pointed skyward. "Something up there kinda… flashed. Like glass."

"Probably an airplane…"

"There it is again!"

"Whoa!"

A sapphire-blue fleck moved against the paler blue of the sky, sunlight gleaming from its surface. From this distance it could have been an enormous bird, an oddly shaped plane, or a spacecraft. Whatever it was, it was circling high over the city… no, it was more over the woods close to Devon's house. The two boys kept staring at it as they headed to the forest, eager to see what exactly this thing was…

"Whatcha looking at, boys?"

Devon grimaced. "Go away, Tanya!"

"Why?" she demanded, jogging to catch up with them. She might think she looked adorable in that pink Princess T-shirt and flare-legged jeans, but Devon just thought she – and all other girls who imitated that look – looked weird. And lately she had been following Devon and Buzz constantly, begging to know what they were up to and why.

"You're always doing all this 'secret' stuff, and I want to know what it is!" she said. "I mean, come on, if it's just a boy club, can't girls be let in too?"

"You wouldn't understand," Buzz retorted.

Suddenly the blue object they had been studying jetted fire from its bow/mouth/front. The two boys gasped, and Tanya screamed.

"Did you see that?" exclaimed Buzz.

"I saw it! I saw it!" shrieked Tanya.

"It's a dragon!" breathed Devon.

"A dragon!" Tanya jumped up and down. "A dragon here in our town! This is so cool!"

"Doggone it, Tanya, leave us alone!" snapped Buzz.

"Both of you shut up," Devon ordered. "I want a closer look." He delved into his backpack and pulled out a macroscope – a gift from Luke Skywalker the last time he'd come out of his painting.

"Cool binoculars," Tanya told him.

"Thanks," Devon said vaguely, cueing the gadget up and gazing skyward.

Once he got the creature into focus, he had to admit it was decidedly dragonish. Deep blue with webbed wings and a regal expression on its reptilian face, it carried two riders – a handsome young man with a scarlet sword strapped to his waist, and a dark-haired, black-leather-clad woman. As Devon panned the scope to keep the beast in his line of sight, the woman reached back to absently brush her hair back…

"Whoa," he gasped, lowering the scope.

"What is it?" asked Buzz.

"What is it? What is it?" begged Tanya.

"Buzz, keep an eye on it," Devon ordered, thrusting the scope into his hands. "Don't lose it, whatever you do! I'm gonna go get the others."

"What others…" Buzz began, then realized what Devon was implying. "Why them?"

"They said if anything like this ever happened, they needed to know."

"What about the leech?" Buzz asked, nodding toward Tanya.

"I'm not a leech!" she snapped.

"Go home, Tanya, and don't tell anyone about this," Devon ordered.

"Why not?" she said indignantly. "And what makes you so special that you get to stay and see it? And who're these 'others' you two keep talking about?"

"Just go home, Tanya," Devon said pleadingly.

As Buzz kept the scope trained on the dragon and Tanya leaned against a tree, having clearly no intention of leaving, Devon jogged toward the Mos Espa Street Market, Mr. Makatzo's legacy to him. It had been a year since the Jedi Master had died, and though he still missed the quirky old man, he had by now accepted the enormous responsibility left to him by his friend – Keeper of the Paintings. Until their world was technologically ready to accept interstellar immigrants, it was his duty to ensure the precious portraits of the beings of the Star Wars galaxy stayed protected, ready for a second chance at life.

Mom was behind the counter of the Star-Wars-themed store, and she raised an eyebrow at Devon as he bolted for the back room.

"You're late," she reminded him.

"Something big's come up, Mom," Devon told her. "Sorry, I can't work after school today."

"What do you mean 'something big?'" she asked.

"Buzz is way behind on his book report," he told her. "He needs serious help." Okay, so that was the truth, if completely irrelevant. Let Mom draw her own conclusion from that information.

She sighed. "Okay, go help Buzz with his report. But I want your help closing the store tonight, okay?"

"Sure," he replied quickly. "Left my book in the basement, though."

"Lock the door after you're done down there!" she shouted as he charged downstairs.

The basement of the store was lit by a single light bulb, which meant the corners of the room were still drenched in darkness. Dust and cobwebs layered every surface, and the water pipes zigzagging over the ceiling kept the place in a permanent chill. Devon pushed past storage boxes and made his way to the paintings, which were kept in individual airtight plastic cases in the back to keep them safe from damage and time. By his own request, three of them were constantly kept separate from the others – Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, and Yoda.

"Guys, I need your help," he murmured, snapping their cases open.

It took a few minutes to haul the heavy paintings from their cases and pull the canvases from the frames. He rolled each one up and tossed it into an old steel filing cabinet drawer, then pulled a lighter from his pocket and carefully lit the edges of each painting.

"Can you guys hear me?"

"Give us a minute," Luke advised as his outline began to take shape. As the paintings burned Luke's body materialized, then Yoda's, then Vader's, then those of Vader's stormtrooper bodyguards. When the three Jedi and six soldiers had fully emerged from the paintings and into the room, Devon yanked the fire extinguisher from one wall and hastily sprayed the flames.

"Trouble is there?" asked Yoda.

"Buzz and I saw something weird coming home from school," Devon explained. "I think it's a dragon."

"Krayt dragon?" asked a stormtrooper.

"No, a big blue flying dragon. It breathed fire, too, we saw."

Vader exchanged a look with Yoda, one heavy with meaning. "Explain further, Devon," he ordered. "Did you see anything else out of the ordinary? Was someone riding the dragon? Was there any accompanying unexplainable phenomena?"

"If that means anything else weird, yeah. There were two people on its neck – a guy, looked about sixteen, with a red sword. And a girl with black hair. I think… I think she's an elf."

"An elf?" repeated Luke.

"She had pointed ears, anyway," Devon replied.

Yoda nodded. "Thought at first a dragonrider of Pern this might be, but elves in Pern there are not…"

"Pern? You mean Pern's real too?"

"Remember what Harry told you, Devon?" Luke said. "There are many worlds, not just yours and that of Star Wars."

"You mean… for every book and movie out there… there's a world?"

Vader nodded.

"Whoa."

"Pern it would not be, though," Yoda replied, shaking his head. "Always kept to themselves, they did. Never stirring for inter-world affairs, not even for a crisis."

"Could it be Xanth?" asked Luke. "There are dragons and elves there…"

"The dragons there tend to be vicious," Vader replied. "And most would not tolerate a rider."

"Know who they are we will not until meet them we do," Yoda replied. "Go see this dragon and its riders we must."

Devon opened the emergency exit, and the four of them slipped outside.

"Buzz's keeping tabs on it," Devon offered. "There's a girl with us, Tanya, and I can't get her to go away."

"Does she know?" asked Luke.

"You think I'm stupid enough to tell her?" Devon demanded.

"Hmmm," muttered Yoda, climbing up Vader's cloak and latching onto his shoulder like a koala. "Judge the girl we will when meet her we do. For now, see this dragon we must."

They climbed up a set of concrete stairs to the alley behind the store, then set off at a brisk run to the forest. It wasn't long before the dragon came into view again, still spiraling over Devon's house. Buzz was standing atop a boulder to get a better view, and Tanya was whining for a turn with the binoculars so she could see the dragon too.

"It's a lot lower than last time," Devon observed.

"Not from a world I recognize," Luke murmured. "We'll have to communicate with it and get it to land."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Vader inquired.

"Don't most dragons speak through telepathy?" Luke asked.

"Attempt it I can," Yoda replied, and he closed his eyes in concentration.

At that moment Tanya turned and spotted them. Her eyes grew wide, and Devon braced himself for hysterical shrieking. To his shock, she instead ran forward and threw her arms around Vader's waist.

"Oh my goodness, they're real!" she squealed. "Oh my goodness! I SO have to get your autographs! Is this the big secret you and Buzz were keeping?"

Luke burst into laughter while Vader managed to look quite uncomfortable through the mask.

"Um, Tanya?" Devon said. "You might wanna let go. He needs to be able to walk."

"Oh, sorry." She released him. "So where did you guys come from? What are you doing on our planet? Are you going to talk to the President and ask Earth to join the Rebellion… or the Empire… or whatever?"

"Time for questions there will be later," Yoda told her, opening his eyes. "Landing momentarily our friend Saphira is."

"Saphira?" asked Devon. "Oh, the dragon, right?"

"I didn't know there were dragons in Star Wars," Buzz said, lowering his scope.

"Saphira's not from Star Wars!" Tanya informed him with a hint of superiority in her voice. "She's from the book 'Eragon!' I got it from my grandma for Christmas!"

The dragon landed neatly at the edge of the forest, regarding their group with intelligent eyes. The young man on her back stared down at them from his seat, arcing an eyebrow.

"Master Yoda?" he asked. "Is that you?"

"The same," Yoda replied. "Help you how can we, Rider Eragon?"

Eragon waved toward the neighboring houses. "We need to talk to you immediately. But we need to do it where we can't be seen. We've already had to dodge this world's weaponry to get here."

"You were chased by the Air Force!" gaped Buzz.

"Into the woods," Vader advised. "There is a meadow suitable for our purposes – large enough for Saphira and sufficiently isolated."

"Devon, get something to refresh our guests, why don't you?" asked Yoda.

Devon stared up at Saphira. "I dunno…"

_/I can always hunt in the forest/_ the dragon assured him, nodding her head. _/But my rider needs food and water, as does his guest Arya. They have had to use a lot of magic to escape the Air Force and get here, and they are exhausted and hungry./_

"Okay," he replied. "Be right back!"

_Break…_

Everyone had arranged themselves in a neat circle in the grass of the meadow by the time Devon got back, carrying a bag of chips, four sandwiches, two bottles of water, and a bag of Oreos. Saphira took up a good half of the clearing, her jaws wrapped around a good-sized deer. Devon turned away and tried to ignore the dining dragon, handing the food to Eragon and Arya before taking a seat between Buzz and Vader.

"Many thanks, boy," Arya told him in richly accented English.

"We've just finished explaining things to Tanya," Luke told him. "Yoda judges her of sound enough character to keep this secret."

"Um… okay." He wasn't exactly fond of Tanya, but if Yoda could trust her, she must be all right.

Eragon ate quickly, then brushed crumbs from his lips and addressed Yoda. "We had come here to find Jedi Master Makatzo. I trust you know where he lives?"

"Master Makatzo died about a year ago," Vader informed him. "He suffered a heart attack."

"Oh." Eragon's face fell.

"He has chosen one to carry on in his footsteps," Vader went on, placing a hand on Devon's shoulder. "Devon Phillips, a trustworthy young man who shows maturity beyond his years. He is currently serving as the Keeper of the Paintings until Earth reaches a stage suitable for our settlement here."

Eragon looked at Devon skeptically, and Devon rolled his eyes. He could practically see the Dragon Rider's thoughts cross his face – _how can this young boy take the place of a great Jedi?_

_/He is the same age Vader was when Vader helped defeat the Trade Federation/_ Saphira told Eragon as if reading his thoughts – and maybe she was.

Eragon sighed. "Very well. Devon, you understand what led to the destruction of the Star Wars universe, don't you?"

He nodded. "Some kind of Sith spell, I hear. Something Emperor Palpatine found in the Sith Archives."

"What else do you know about it?" asked Arya. "We need all the information you and your friends have – how the destruction was started, how it works. And we need this information quickly."

"Why?" asked Buzz. "What's going on?"

Eragon gave the boy a serious look before speaking the words that would alter Devon's life and perception of the universe forever.

"Because whatever it is… it's spreading."

_Break…_

Mom was not happy to hear that Devon wanted to spend all Memorial Day exploring the woods with Buzz and Tanya instead of going to the graveyard with Mom, Dad, and Britney to visit their grandparents' graves. But she humored him, stipulating that he had to be back at the house by five o'clock so he didn't miss dinner. Packing plenty of food in his backpack and ensuring he had his sketchpad in case of emergency, he took off into the forest, in the direction Eragon had indicated he take.

"Dang, I thought Mom would never let me go," Buzz grumbled, joining Devon. "And I couldn't tell her it was to save the universe… I had to promise her that I'd clean the bathroom for a month…"

"My dad didn't have any problem letting me go," Tanya replied. "And hey, I brought flashlights. I bet you boys didn't think to bring flashlights."

"Yoda said we didn't have to worry about lights in the cave," Devon replied.

They came across a stony hillside, where a dark mouth of a cave opened up as if to swallow them. Vader was already there, awaiting their presence, and he motioned for them to go in.

"Representatives from every affected world are present," he informed them. "This cavern is the only place large and secluded enough for them to meet in secret."

"Just how many worlds are affected?" asked Devon.

"A full tally has yet to come in, but I estimate it to be over fifty," Vader replied. "It was agreed that, if there was ever a crisis that affected two or more worlds, every world would send three representatives. That means you three will be representing Earth."

They followed a chilly, damp tunnel for about seventy-five feet before emerging in a torch-lit chamber large enough to house a football field. Creatures of all kinds occupied this room, and Devon suppressed the urge to gape as he attempted to identify as many as possible – Frodo, Gandalf, and Legalos; Mario, Bowser, and Yoshi; Captain Kirk, Spock, and Scottie; the Good Magician, Jenny Elf, and Stanley Steamer; Eragon, Saphira, and Arya; the grownup Harry Potter (who winked at him when he caught his eye) and his now-adult friends Ron and Hermione; Violet, Klaus, and Sunny; Shrek, Fiona, and Donkey; Calvin, Hobbes, and Susie… and was that the T-rex from "Jurassic Park?" And there were many, many more that he couldn't have recognized for the life of him.

"Ah, arrived they have," Yoda noted from his perch atop a large stalagmite. "Begin this meeting we can."

"Those are the Earth representatives?" demanded a white-uniformed man on a white horse with a stunned expression. "I thought for sure they would be kings or presidents…"

"Trustworthy they are, Herald Talamir," Yoda replied. "If think you do that an appropriate choice they are not, free to seek others you are, though have time to locate them I doubt we do."

The Herald subsided.

"Gathered we have because begun an emergency has," Yoda addressed. "Know all of you do that destroyed our world was by the treachery of the Emperor. At the time, thought we did that isolated to our galaxy the destruction would be, but found we have that spread beyond our world it has. Affected all your worlds have been, and affected many more will be if act we do not."

"What is it, anyhow?" asked Ron. "It's… bizarre."

"What's bizarre?" asked Devon.

"The menace to our worlds," Harry told him quietly. "Greater than war, greater than conquest, greater than even total apocalypse, for worlds have been known to regenerate from all of those. But this… this is something no world has been able to recover from."

"But what is it?" demanded Tanya.

"It's… Nothing," Harry replied.

"Of course it has to be something if it's threatening your worlds!" Tanya exclaimed.

"No, young lady," Vader told her. "That is the menace. Nothingness. Nonexistence. When a world simply… vanishes, leaving no trace of its passing. That is what overtook our world – a great nothingness that engulfed entire planets until nothing remained."

"But how can it spread to other worlds?" asked Devon, still trying to comprehend the menace of a deadly but nonexistent enemy.

"Rips there are between worlds," Yoda replied. "Holes, fissures, portals, cracks. On occasion, pass through these rips objects and people can, though risky these crossovers can be for the uninitiated. Shared portals with many worlds Star Wars did, and now, through these portals, leaking out and gaining new ground Nothing is."

Devon shook his head in wonder. He knew about crossovers, of course. Crossover movies, novels, and comic books were rarely done well, though, and most Internet crossovers were beyond his reach now that his parents had banned him from the computer for trying to illegally download "Revenge of the Sith." But it had never occurred to him that there was a plausible way for crossovers to occur in real life… or for the means of crossing between worlds to put every world in dire peril.

"What-are-we-gonna-do-what-are-we-gonna-do?" whimpered Donkey, cowering behind the hulking green form of his ogre friend. "We're gonna die! We're gonna DIIIIEEEEEE!"

"Donkey, two words!" snarled Shrek in exasperation. "Shut – up!"

Devon took a deep breath. "Can I see one of the leaks?" he asked.

Yoda hesitated, then nodded. "Go with you some guards should. Something else going on there is."

"What else is going on?" Devon asked warily.

"Something is seeking to further the destruction of Nothing," Vader replied. "And it has servants."

"Servants?" Buzz whimpered.

"Servants," Vader replied. "We believe that, when the Emperor invoked the destruction in the first place, he inadvertently released the thinking, learning force behind the Nothing, and that it has placed beings from all worlds it touches under its thrall. These creatures live for one purpose only – to eliminate all who stand in the way of halting Nothing's progress."

Devon shivered. "What kind of creatures?"

"Some look like stormtroopers," Luke told him. "Others look like Koopas, or dragons, or orcs, or dementors, or goblins. They come from a mix of worlds. And some… some come from Earth."

"Oh boy," Devon moaned. "Don't tell me the military got mind-controlled by the Nothing force."

Vader shook his head. "Mostly low-level scum – gang members, drug dealers. That is why you will be escorted to the rift. We can't afford to lose you, Devon."

Devon pointed to Tanya and Buzz. "They should stay here."

"I wanna go with you!" whined Tanya.

"Me too!" Buzz shouted.

"This isn't a game," Devon told them. "This is serious. Please just stay here. Okay?"

They frowned but complied.

"All right, I'm set," Devon told Vader. "Let's go."

_Break…_

It was… different. Different from anything he'd ever seen.

Devon had used the word "different" many times before, only to learn now that nothing was so strange that he hadn't seen something slightly like it before. This was unlike anything he could ever comprehend.

The rift hung about five feet in the air over a small bramble patch, looking for all the world like someone had taken a knife to a painting and carved out a great gash in the canvas – except in this case the canvas was the world itself. He could even see the hanging flag of cosmic material dangling from the tear, flapping slightly in the breeze. A thick glutinous substance was slowly flowing from the hole, some of it creeping along the ground, some of it floating through the air, and all of it gradually erasing all it came into contact with. The stuff that made up Nothing didn't seem to be white, or black, or gray, or any color at all. It was a non-color, if such thing existed.

Devon stepped forward cautiously, with Vader, Luke, Harry, Eragon, Saphira, Mario, and a velociraptor keeping a watchful eye on him. Whatever this was, it didn't look dangerous…

"Don't touch it, Devon," warned Luke.

"I'm not gonna," he replied. All the same, he picked up a stick and carefully extended it toward the sludge, wondering if he could collect a sample.

As soon as the stick touched the substance, however, it vanished. It wasn't burned up, swallowed, or eaten as if by acid. It had just… disappeared. As if it had never been.

"Whoa," he breathed, backing away.

"You see the threat it causes now?" asked Harry.

"How can we stop it?" Devon asked. "How do you stop… nothing?"

"That's what we were planning on discussing," Luke replied. "If you have any suggestions…"

As if Luke's query had sparked it, an incredible idea burst to life in his head. Could it be… could he possibly… Mr. Makatzo had intended it be used for preservation… but could it be used for other things?

He delved into his pack, yanked out the sketchpad, and started drawing. He had to test this theory out!

"What's he doing?" the velociraptor growled – well, he didn't use the exact English words, but the tone of his snarl got his point across quite well.

"I think he's got a plan," Harry said, awed.

Devon concentrated on his sketch. It was difficult drawing Nothing, but he wouldn't let the challenge get in his way. Carefully he drew in the river of non-colored glop and the rift in space, praying this would work. When he'd finally laid down his pencil, he looked up.

"It's gone," he breathed.

Those gathered in the meadow gave a great cheer. The rift and the Nothing had vanished. In their place was a strangely blank area, as if someone had erased the ground and portions of the trees from view. The damage was done, but at least Devon had halted it.

"Protect that sketch, Devon," Eragon ordered. "If it's destroyed, this starts all over."

"Maybe not," Devon said, another idea springing to life. He raised his pencil again, turned it around, and began erasing the sketch.

"Hey, stop that!" Eragon ordered. "You'll bring it back!"

"He knows what he's doing!" Luke retorted.

_/I hope so/ _Devon thought. He erased the sketch thoroughly, leaving no trace of a mark. Then he took the paper in both hands and tore it in half.

The rift didn't reappear. Neither did the Nothing. Devon stared, awestruck. The preservation technique wasn't merely a means of keeping people and objects preserved – it could be used for destruction as well.

"Great, but there's a drawback," Mario pointed out. "It gets rid of the Nothing all right, but it also destroys the portals between worlds."

"New rifts are opening all the time," Harry reminded him. "And besides, no great loss if the rifts leading to a nonexistent world are shut."

Luke and Vader exchanged a look of melancholy. Devon longed to be able to comfort them – after all, they had lost a home to this menace – but how did you comfort someone who had lost everything?

Something stirred in the brush behind them. Everyone whirled to face the menace.

"Well done, young Devon," a sinister, oily voice crooned. "Well done indeed."

A figure stepped out of the woods, a familiar figure that nonetheless looked oddly… altered. He looked to have once been a stormtrooper, but there was a peculiar aura of darkness about the man, a hollowness to his voice and form, as if he were nothing more than an illusion. Even as he pointed a blaster at those assigned to protect the boy, his gaze never left Devon. The boy shivered – it was as if he were looking into the eyes of a demon.

"So," the shadow-stormtrooper murmured, "you have discovered a way to halt Nothing." He gave a flat, emotionless laugh. "Noble of you to try, young one, but all your little paper tricks will do is buy you time. Nothing succeeds in the end. It always does."

Devon raised his pencil. "Don't make me draw you, shadow-jerk."

"Go on and destroy us," cooed another silky voice as an orcish creature emerged from the bramble. "Our deaths are inconsequential. All that matters is that our master prevails."

More and more of the eerie, unreal beings slipped out of the forest to surround them, all looking more shadow than substance, all under the thrall of some stranger power. Devon's bodyguards formed a protective circle around the boy, with lightsabers, swords, wands, claws, fangs, or other weapons drawn in his defense. Devon tried to see what was going on around Saphira's bulky body, but she kept moving to block his view.

"Turn the boy over to us," purred a dementor, looking even more frightening than usual. "The rest of you will be spared to live a little while longer."

_/We die before you get your paws on him/ _declared Saphira.

"Everything dies," hissed a dragonish beast. "People, kingdoms, dynasties, religions, causes, worlds… everything is mortal, everything eventually fades away. Only Nothing is permanent. Only extinction. In the end, Nothing prevails. You fight a useless battle. Why not submit to the inevitable?"

"Because even Nothing isn't permanent," Luke retorted. "Sooner or later, there is rebirth. Sooner or later, there is renewal. Nothing remains dead forever. If anyone fights a useless battle, it's the Nothing. It seeks total destruction – a goal that can never be achieved."

"Oh yes it can," laughed a young woman in black leather hip-hop clothing. "Even now Nothing is expanding. Even now it's forming new rifts. With every passing moment it gains new ground. It's only a matter of time before all worlds are annihilated!"

Devon wanted to scream in fright. What could they do? These Nothing-servants were right – sooner or later Nothing would claim many more worlds, just as it had consumed the Star Wars universe. He had to do something…

Furiously he concentrated. There had to be something else he could do with the power Mr. Makatzo had taught him. Preservation, destruction… though how did one destroy something that didn't exist? No, it did exist. Even Nothing had some form. But it was spreading so fast…

_Go for the heart, _he thought suddenly, with thoughts that were his own and yet strangely were also the thoughts of a greater power. _Go for the center, the core. Destroy the heart of Nothing._

Something weird was happening in his head. It was as if he were seeing two scenes at once – the scene of the confrontation with the servants of Nothing… and a scene of a vast sea of blankness, an unbroken expanse of non-color pulsing outward from a dark fountain of Nothing…

_Byss. _The heart of it all. The site of the Emperor's fortress – and the source of the destruction that the mad tyrant had maliciously unleashed upon all creation. That was where Nothing was coming from.

Devon crouched, ducking out of the line of fire just as the shadow-creatures attacked. Battle raged all around him, snarls and screams and the thrum of lightsabers and the sizzle of spells roaring in his ears. With incredible speed he sketched, forming a star on the paper, then a planet. An ellipse indicated the path of the planet's rotation; a few orbs represented moons.

Eragon shouted a word in some otherworldly language, and the shadow-stormtrooper burst into flames. Ignoring the screams, Devon kept drawing. Continents, oceans, swirls of cloud… it was as if an unseen hand guided his own, producing the scene for him.

"Stop him!" howled the shadow-dragon. "Stop the boy!"

Devon threw the pencil down, yanked the drawing out of the sketchpad, and tore it savagely down the middle.

The Nothing-servants began to scream. The scene in Devon's head rippled with unspeakable turmoil, as Nothing parted to admit the sudden appearance of substance – a star and its sole life-bearing planet. The image flashed, revealing scenes of dozens of other worlds, scenes of Nothing halting in its tracks as the source of the river of destruction was staunched.

When the vision finally ended, he looked up. The servants of the destructive force were all dead, destroyed by those that had accompanied Devon. All of them were now staring at him, bewildered.

"What just happened?" demanded Luke.

_Break…_

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Call the police and tell them to call off the search for us. Buzz and Tanya will be coming home soon; Boba Fett promised to drop them off in the park this Saturday at noon. But I won't be with them._

_It's a long story, and I doubt you'll believe it, but here goes. Mr. Makatzo was really a Jedi Knight, and he and a bunch of the people of the Star Wars worlds came to Earth years ago when the Emperor used something terrible called Nothing to destroy their galaxy. But now there's hope of restoring their homes… and they need me to do it._

_I'm sorry, but I have to help them. After all, what happens in one world affects another. I've learned that in the past few weeks since I left. All worlds are connected, and they share much more than anyone could ever guess. I wish I could send you pictures – I've spent the last month going to worlds to fix up what Nothing did to them, and they're so incredible. Maybe someday I'll have to stop back home and tell you everything I saw._

_Oh, and don't freak out about the missing paintings. We destroyed them. Sorry, but it had to be done for the Star Wars world. Mr. Makatzo knew that it had to be done someday._

_I love you, Mom and Dad. I wish I could tell you goodbye face-to-face. Don't worry about the store – go ahead and sell it if you want. I'm sure Mr. Makatzo wouldn't mind._

_Your son,_

_Devon_

Folding up the tear-smudged paper, Devon handed it to Boba Fett. "Promise me you'll deliver that."

"I will," the hunter replied, nodding respectfully.

Tanya threw her arms around Devon, sobbing. "You're so brave," she choked. "Doing this for them… you're my new hero, Dev."

"Tanya," he complained gently, pulling away carefully.

Buzz held out a hand. "Nice to know you, Devon. I'll miss you."

"Yeah," Devon replied, shaking the hand. "I'll miss you too, Buzz. Take care, okay?"

Buzz and Tanya waved goodbye, the latter blowing her nose loudly on the hem of her shirt, and they followed Fett to the portal.

Vader stepped forward and clasped Devon's shoulder sympathetically, at a profound loss for words. The Dark Lord could identify with part of the boy's decision – the decision to leave his family behind to join a greater cause. But to leave all he knew and loved, to leave the universe that had been his home all his life to live in a galaxy totally alien to him… the sacrifice was one even most adults couldn't have made. The galaxy was deeply indebted to him, and his courage would always be remembered and honored.

Devon smiled up at Vader. He'd abandoned his Earth clothes for Jedi robes, and the beginnings of a Padawan braid dangled behind one ear. After all, he was a Force user now, albeit a young one.

Together they looked up into the blank skies hanging over Byss. The planet was in the same state it had been before the destruction – even those who had inhabited the planet at the time of its disappearance had been restored, and to them it was as if nothing had changed. This was a sign of hope for those who had survived the destruction before. It meant that there was some hope of regaining their lives.

Devon sighed, somewhat daunted by the task that lay before him. The books and movies on Earth had detailed only a hundred or so of the worlds of Star Wars – when in reality there were millions of planets, moons, and stars to be resurrected, to be drawn and the drawings destroyed to bring them back to life. It would take years to finish the task, if not decades. It might even take Devon's entire life… or longer.

Vader at last found the words. "Thank you, Devon. We are all indebted to you."

Devon leaned against his favorite character. "Did you feel like this when you learned you were the Chosen One, supposed to balance the Force and destroy the Sith?"

"I was very overwhelmed," Vader replied, wrapping his arms comfortingly around the boy. "However, you have one advantage over me – you were not predestined to restore our world. You chose the responsibility yourself. You are doing this willingly. And for that reason, you will serve in your capacity all the better."

Devon smiled a little. "I just hope I don't do something to screw it all up now."

Vader chuckled. "I have faith in you, Devon." He took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the abandoned fortress that was serving as temporary headquarters for the restoration mission. "Get some rest, young man. We have a long day tomorrow."

**Author's Note**

In the "Books to Look For" column of the June 2005 issue of _The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction_, book reviewer Charles De Lint said "I suppose every writer has an end-of-the-world novel in them (even if it's only that period of fatigue two-thirds to three-quarters of the way through the writing when one often seems to hit a creative wall and just wants to type 'And they all died. The end.')"

I suppose that "The Artist" is my end-of-the-world story (not counting the multiple times I've experienced the nearly-apocalyptic writer's block detailed above). It's not my first story – it's my first to be published on FFN, but my fourth written story – but it's certainly the one closest to my heart. When I was a child, I would often wonder if all the characters from my favorite books and movies did, in fact, exist somewhere, and I suppose this story stems from that childhood fantasy.

I never intended for "The Artist" to be so bleak. When I received the inspiration for this story from a story titled "The Caldwurm," which told about a wizard who preserved such creatures as dragons and mermaids in paintings to survive the plague of technology and human advancement, I intended the story to be somewhat lighthearted. But the fic took its own course, and in the end, the finished product was a sadder but more mature version of what I had intended.

I also never intended for "The Artist" to actually have a message behind the fantastic elements, but I think it touches nicely on a number of issues – the acceptance of responsibility, the fragility of the world around us, the connection that exists between all things, and the remarkable ability of children to understand what goes right over most adults' heads.

Will Devon the Artist eventually accomplish his mission? I sure hope so. Will I detail his quest in a future chapter? I can't say. But if the answer is yes, you know right where to find it.


End file.
